Kosi, me, and the Kairos || Story by Ninad Parikh

Posted by on Sep 22, 2015 in General Reading, Inspiration and Opinions, Short Fiction | 5 comments

The stage was set, characters were defined and audience awaited.

I was the audience. Show was to commence. The curtains of twilight were raised to give way to the uncanny fraternization of subtle darkness and silken moonlight. Homecoming of the birds was suggestive of the fact that it was time to return to the place where I belonged. The place, the state of life where ecstasy thrives. The place where one loses oneself and in the process reclaims the divinity of the moment…

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Everything in the vicinity appeared interwoven. The water conversing with the stones underneath, the wind whispering in the ears of the sky-scraping trees, the mountains shaking hands with the horizon, the misting of moonlight on the earth and the aura of that moment.

I was contemplating the phenomenal swiftness with which the birds were dramatizing their acrobatics in the animated sky. The freedom they luxuriate bequeaths them with the ardor to speed up, the ebullience to live on and to fly away to the resplendent glory.

A bird parked itself on a hulking stone. He gaped candidly into my eyes. I was surprised not at the fearlessness but at the calmness he flaunted. He seemed to be sure of enduring till I uttered something. But I felt as if I had been talking to him for eternity. There was no obligation to be prim and ask him about his identity on this earth and sky…

I eventually asked him, “How does it feel to harmonize with this timeless aura of creativity?” He looked at me with unaltered tranquility as if he had expected such a question from me. He panned his sight towards the horizon and after a few prolonged moments, replied, “Mate, One always belongs to his own creation.”

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I was astonished not because of the unfathomable answer but at the ease with which he addressed me as “Mate”.

“One always belongs to his own creation,” I said to myself and kept saying it for a while. “What do you mean? Is it you who has fashioned this aura?” I asked.

“Partially.”

“So you are suggesting that you have been instrumental in creating a quantum of this aura….”

“Absolutely. Even you are a part of the same.”

That didn’t exactly give me the sense of belonging I was craving for, but it did raise a flutter of hope within my mind that I am still there.

I asked him, “Can you elaborate on your and specifically my role in this unimaginable creation?”

“Well, there is no single entity that has scripted this aura and painted this panoramic picture. We all make it happen. We all are doing what we are best at and incidentally everything converges in a distinguished moment. A moment that lives for a life time. A moment that paints you in happiness and fills you with a perpetual sense of belonging. I am an avian. I live because I fly. And when I fly I fly with such pride and zest that this world falls in love with my flight. That’s the partial aura I am referring to.”

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“But how do I become a part of this…what have I accomplished?” I asked.

“Some minutes back you would have felt that the mountains are shaking hands with the horizon…the winds are whispering something in the ears of those tall trees….That was a surreal feeling you created. Mate, the mountains don’t shake hands with horizon. It’s the perception you sculpture in your heart that transposes it into a prodigious entourage. You were the creator of that moment when you heard the whispers of wind. Now you will write about the magical feeling, the perennial happiness and the worth of this life. You will spread the aura. You have taken birth to spread this aura. You are an instrument that will create music and sing the soulful songs of unending happiness.”

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He winged away into the panorama and left me feeling blessed. The blessing of being instrumental. The blessing of being a part of this life. I sat there till the dawn, the bird came back with the sun and I promised him… “I will write about and celebrate a festival. A festival called life.”

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Photographs and Narrative by
Ninad

Note –
Kosi is a river flowing from Nepal to India and is known as the “sorrow of Bihar”. Despite being unregulated and posing a threat to human life, it still remains beautiful.
Kairos signifies the moment of truth…the opportune moment…the time when God acts.

Photographs have been deliberately chosen from different parts of the world (Kashmir, Yercaud (Tamil Nadu), Niagara Falls (Canada), Night & Moon above Kosi River (Jim Corbett Park) and the dawn at Betul, Madhya Pradesh.

Ninad Parekh, Writer, PoetNinad, a free bird, writes to live and lives to write.
Rest is just incidental. (Engineering–>MBA–>IT job
–>Theatre–>Photography–>Solo Travel freak–>
Education + NGO bug–>Quitting IT Job and joining
an NGO–>lately sketching etc…) He writes prose and
poetry and is also an occasional theatre artist.

5 Comments

  1. I know Ninad personally and aware about his journey till date …the way Ninad scripted the narrative it feels like you are there and posing the question to bird and getting your answers …and got myself surprised as well with the clarity and beauty of lines . I realized that I am myself it contributing to the aura of life .

    well done Ninad , please keep up the good work and keep on inspiring us .

    Cheers!!!
    Amit

  2. Beautiful !

  3. As always, don’t know what i like more…the words or the images.

    The images have transformed this beautiful piece and added to its richness.

    Looking forward to this space.

    Shall await the next Kairos :)-

    Stay blessed!!!

  4. Ninad, it’s beautiful and thoughtful!

  5. Excellent work. Could restrain myself from reading it till the last full stop. Kept wondering, is it the same old friend of mine! Are the words and pictures and the artistic presentation, done by an engineer I was fortunate to meet a decade back?

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