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
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
6 comments:
Reminds me of Hemingway's comment in connection with old Santiago in 'The Old Man and the Sea': a man may be destroyed but not defeated.
There is pain, and loss, and sorrow, and disillusionment, and exhaustion and death inextricably bound up with the human condition, yet Man does not die - at least not as long as he can observe, think, wonder, inquire, exult, and leave his thoughts behind.
Roger Penrose asserts (as Tagore did much before: amaari chetonaar rongey panna holo shobuj...) that physics cannot move forward hereafter without factoring in the reality of human consciousness. And Paul Davies writes in the conclusion of 'The Mind of God': "I cannot believe that our existence in this universe is a mere quirk of fate, an accident of history, an incidental blip in the great cosmic drama. Our involvement is too intimate. The physical species Homo may count for nothing, but the existence of mind in some organism on some planet is surely a fact of fundamental importance. Through conscious beings the universe has generated self-awareness. This can be no trivial detail, no minor byproduct of mindless, purposeless forces. We are truly meant to be here."
Meant for what, I wonder, if not for this?
Sorry for the slightly late comment, but yes I do have something important to say.
You asked your readers to recount stories of people whose spirit wishes to remain unvanquished, inspite of the tremendous odds facing them.
I remember this certain man sitting in front of our neighbourhood market. He's a leper, half of whose fingers and limbs have rotten away, and naturally he has taken to beggary to get some little food for himself. I have seldom seen individuals as happy as he is: he smiles all day long, asking passers-by for alms. Some feel an ounce of pity for him and give him a rupee or two, some are disgusted to see him, and some don't even care to notice. And yet for days, I have seen how this man spends his day. For someone whose worldly possessions fit into a small tattered bag (my throat chokes with sadness as a right this: it is quite unimaginable how terribly poor and unlucky the man is!) and who knows that he'll slowly rot away until he dies, you don't expect a man as happy as him. With those rags on his body, his extremely matted and unclean hair, and impoverished and haggard face, he drags his body along the dusty road; sleeps in the corridors of the commercial complex at night and spends the day moving around. That's his life: and yet he is unvanquished in his struggle. Simply because he still is brave enough to smile-- and I say he succeeds where many "normal" people fail... He lives, most of us never do!
There's yet another man I've come to admire in this respect: our own gatekeeper. Maybe you can check out this post to read a little bit more on him:- http://sudiptopondering.blogspot.com/2007/07/my-friend-of-misery.html
With regards,
Sudipto.
Some time ago I read a book about a girl called Maria. She was born with one leg and one hand. The leg was not of normal size. It was much shorter than normal. She grew up and besides living a normal life ,she was a wonderful swimmer, a self sufficient woman, a good driver.
She was in noway less than any normal woman. Surprisingly she proved to be a proud mother aswell. She suffered a lot of pain and suffering but did not give up.
Atrue oparajito is'nt she? And we cry over small things. Complain about our bed not being comfortable and silly teenage problems.
With regards,
Sriranjani.
Hi Shubho. You know what your essay reminds me of? - It reminds me what you wrote, about different worlds and different views - with all the different worlds and views being representations of one whole. In your world the shalik made a difference. I have a friend Joe, who loves/adores birds - and can recognise every bird, is an avid bird-watcher...and has a special relationship with birds. Somehow I think he would love your story as well. And of course Suvro da's already talked about the 'beauty’/’possible significance’ of the human mind and the human presence on our planet...
Somehow what I've noticed is that animals are a lot more 'accepting' of external adversities...I don't know whether we anthropomorphise (and most likely we do...but that is not the point). And I have no idea what an animal thinks or feels - yet they do seem to be 'just who they are'. Folks who are writing 'spiritual' books, which resonate with me at some level (if not all levels) hit on the idea that we need to be more like 'some animals while being aware and conscious.
I'm sorry for this rambling comment Shubho, but my mind is wandering. The only other thing is that while I'm enormously in awe of folks who are able to fight the odds of physical handicaps (be that of sight, sound, or limbs) - I know for a fact that I cannot bear to think about it. It's something that chills me and scares me to the bone - because it is something so 'final'. One lives with it. And it takes away something...I'm much to attached to my senses to be able to let them go!
One last thought....I'm wondering whether the bird just made an appearance because it knew that you and your girlfriend would be thrilled...maybe it dropped by to make your day special! That's a thought....
Shilpidi
Click. Click. Shubho, today I'm even more inclined to believe that the "Oporajitos" are ones who just turn up to make our day what it becomes...the day "becomes other than what it was becoming" (and that's just 'my' worldview).
The Oprajitos make our life bubble a bit more with a quiet joy, or a shining brilliance, no matter what grey patches we go through. A few minutes ago, I was standing outside, pondering on the abysmal level of human memory...as well as my own, and all the horror this has wrought. The spiral wove on its usual way with a black cloud raining sleet, hailstones, fire, and brimstones on me, while the world went on with its swing around the sun. The dark thoughts gathered and grew pretty dense. None of my breathing exercises worked. And all of a sudden, out of the chill, and the wind, and the drizzle (that really is what the weather is like) I hear a merry whistling. Such a joyous, relaxed, and spontaneous whistling it was too. I turned around to see this elderly gentleman (most likely East Asian) on a bicycle with a notepad clutched under his arm, whistling happily, parking his bike, hopping off, without losing his tune, and off he walked with a sprightly gait, still whistling. He looked at me straight in the eye for a second, and I grinned a huge lop-sided grin, and he walked on....
There are many other "Oporajitos" I know of...but this whistling 'stranger' made my day for me. He was merry and joyous in spite of the darkness, and he flicked away the darkness that was threatening to spill over out of me. The day has become that much more easier to bear.
Does that make sense?
Take care, and keep writing.
Shilpidi
Fantastic account and a real eye-opener! Why, there are so many of them, neatly tucked away from the public glare and our ‘collective conscience’ ! The bedraggled person with a forlorn look in his eyes who came all the way to my house to drop my purse I left in the bus and who stubbornly refused to be rewarded anything in return, effectively and comprehensively singeing my ego!
Or the visually challenged Baul, strumming his Ektara, in the humid and sultry mid-May afternoon in the Shantiniketan Express, so passionately and plaintively singing the notes , “Chokher Aloy dekhechhilem chhokher bahire, antare aaj dekhbo jokhon alok nahire”, oblivious of the shrieking haggles of the other vendors , drawing an immediate connect with the nature, with the inner self…
Or Ramuah, the richshawpuller, making his son read the three r’s in the fading, yellow, street lights, while he half- baked his Chapati in the smoky chullas, stoking the dying embers…the dusty and dreary body caught in the evening smoke, but a fire glowing within…
And of course, reminding us of the dreamy eyed hero, Bibhutibhusan’s and our very own own Apurba, so endearingly captured in Ray’s eponymous film, trudging a lonely furrow, mid-fields, having lost almost everything that life had to offer him but his passion, his frenzied desire to defy the odds, to scale the crest anew…
Wonderful post and truly, you have such a sensitive mind! Keep on playing the delicate cadences of life, dear!
Kaushik Chatterjee
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