To be who you are...

‘Be who you are…’ I have come across this as a teaching in many books, numerous articles on the internet about self-improvement, as well as in the movies. I have no doubt on this that it is an instinct which successful ones had in them. Even in the book ‘The Winner Stands Alone’ by Paulo Coelho, the message has been delivered to stick to the original in you and you will stand away from the crowd but on the right track towards success. And this notion somewhere suffice to comply as a trait and add up with many other traits that a winner possess.  

But I seldom confuse myself. This may be because of not having much experience in life, or may be because I am not able to understand the message in the aforesaid line completely. I confuse whether the statement is conditional. Secondly, I don’t doubt on the statement but I perceive that the statement alone is not solely correct. I believe that I need to look into priorities, I need to judge what is right and what is not, and I need to foresee the outcome of my actions before I apply ‘To be who I am.’

Our mind is a factory of thoughts. Many thoughts produced go overlooked while many others make us contemplate. And I contemplate and I find I cannot be entirely who I am at all instances. I need to look if my team-mates are not being offended as a result of my strict nature towards achieving quality performance. I need to get a bit flexible to allow everyone to perform together, happily. I don't like to talk much, but when I am on the job as a salesman I need to be expressive, patient, and talkative. Stupid examples they may sound, but to me they are like few of instances out of many where I cannot be simply who I am. I need to look into other parameters like my priority, foreseen outcome of my actions, or to be say simply in a profitable position. To be who a drug dealer is, or a criminal mastermind to be what he is, that’s completely wrong and that cannot be preached. Wrong doing and right doing, and our ability to judge them, drives what we want to be and what we should be. The statement ‘To be yourself’ is a culmination of attributes that blend our stand in our lives. It stands above all in the hierarchy of self-improvement traits. When all traits below have been considered, then only the top one can be fetched, and that adds a whole lot of meaning to the statement itself. 

Life is not entirely about me and myself. I am just one of the person on this planet, which is just one of the planet of this unfathomable universe. To the life as I see, I don’t find there is anything that lies at the elemental level solely with all the importance. Life is all about totality, various constituents of it combining together to form a meaning. You add two independent things and we get a meaningful thing, you add two meaningful things and that would yield a third meaningful thing. Likewise, to be who I am, that signifies to its truest meaning when all forms of traits combine together. All those traits together would define me what truly I am, or what I choose to be. 

Image courtesy: Google Images Search

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The Love that I saw...

The dreamscape was not over yet… Stories within stories were still unfolding, and I was there the protagonist savoring the near perfect life. There were friends, relationships, and the love existed in those relationships. Life was not a cramp to live with in a city of hustle. It was winter, the moon shining white, and the musk floated in the air of a small town called Brotherhood. A colony of people dwelt there who loved to grow affection for others. They cultivated love, they ate love, but they never sold them. They had stored so much of love in their hearts that their chests were bigger than the people on the other side, separated from dreamy episodes by a thin film. ‘Those who rupture the film don’t get roles in our episodes’, he had said. They must cross over it, without tearing apart their own existence as well as that of the film.
I am not the creator of dreamscape; I am the protagonist playing the role that I wanted. He always insisted me to quench my thirst with Love and gallop on the pavements without the fear of falling down and getting injured. He confirmed, as long as I am in Brotherhood and my wishes are sacred I won’t get injured, although he never guarantees anything for the world on the other side. Everyone calls him the Grandfather. Big chested people say that he is the creator of Brotherhood.

I had always thought of love. I imagined that one day I will be at par with them who were loved on this side, in the real world. I was in delusion in reality. I was deluded till the night when the grandfather explained me the truth. I don’t remember how it happened, but I recollect that he had crossed the film, stepped into the real world, and carried me away to Brotherhood. In that episode, I spent the whole night at Grandfather’s mansion where he lives alone. He is the one with the biggest chest in his town. There we had dinner together; we had roasted turkey, sausages, and warm milk for me while he had wine for himself. He kept smiling at me in between his sips of wine, and through pauses in his speech. He explained me how deluding the world on the other side is, and how deluding its inhabitants are.

‘Love is not just between a girl and a boy. Love is so sacred that it exists between every two entities and more. Love is between sand and stones. Love is between air and the mountains. Love is between birds and the sky. Love is between a mother and her kids. Love is between me and you. And don’t forget, that the love is between you and yourself.’

As the grandfather spoke, his eyes used to get closed and his right arm swung here and there in air.

‘But do you know what is necessary for the Love to be present? It’s the truth and the honesty. And I doubt they don’t exist anymore on the other side’, his head bowed down, his eyes were still closed.

Grandfather sipped some more, and then followed his words.

‘You might get yourself hurt my son. Expectations have been killing people from inside. I have lived my whole life there, and I know how many times I was killed.’

‘Will I get killed too grandfather?’, I asked hesitatingly.

‘I will not let you. And I have brought here to prevent you from any injury you might incur. Expectations, wishing for love staying on the other side, these are potentially dangerous’, replied he.

‘Come on, give me your hand and lets go for a night stroll. Let me show you how the Love feels like in its truest form. But I suggest you not to expect the same when you wake up in your world. In Brotherhood we cultivate love, we eat love, but we never sell them. You must know what the true love is and this will prevent you from falsehood and delusions…’

The night was beautiful. Trees were dressed with shimmering lights from fireflies. The twilight was mused in the music of violin coming from a distant hut. I saw the moon through the clouds that were not polluted. I could see people with varying sizes of chest. And I could easily deduce who were more loving. ‘Truth and Honesty’, I was engrossed within depths of my mind with these two words told by the grandfather to an extent that I watched every movement in that episode to confirm that indeed the truth and the honesty existed there which made the whole ambience so loving. The truth and the honesty, they existed in families, between friends, and strangers. I was the protagonist, but I was the stranger too. But the showering love never seemed to go lesser on me.

I would never free my hand from the grandfather’s. I wish if I could stay here forever… I wish if…

I was about to mutter some more to myself but the episode ended. The night full of love came to an end with the warm sun overhead and with the alarm clock proudly at its work.

It’s not summer here, but still the heat is killing. I don’t focus on weather reports. I have a different measurement scale like the one that the grandfather used in his life here. I want to learn some more from him. But not right now. I must hurry for the school. I will be the protagonist in the next episode of the dreamscape tonight.  

PS: Every night I get into dreams, and they are like episodes of a tele serial where the life is what I have always wanted. Dreamscape is a tele serial, and I am the protagonist, and I will continue to be in each of its upcoming episodes.

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A token that spreads happiness...

Happiness is not just a state of mind; it is the reason for us to live. From the smallest of our actions to those of our biggest futuristic plans, they circle around our desire to attain happiness. Reasons to be happy are innumerable, but its us who decide what would make us happy at the end. Job, money, foreign tour, a lavish bungalow, and the list can go on increasing. But the reason for happiness for a few around us could be to be able to get a full day meal for himself and kids. The reason for happiness could be to gather enough money to cure the disease that the wife is dealing with.
They gave me a token of happiness, and it changed my perspective towards life forever…

Bodh Gaya is the prominent tourist spot in eastern India, famous for Mahabodhi Temple. It lies in Gaya District of my home state, Bihar, and is known for Gautam Buddha to have obtained enlightenment here. Events that I will explain to you here dates back to the time when I was in class sixth. I, along with my mom and dad were on tour in Bodh Gaya. It was around 10 AM, and we are strolling down the streets outside the premises of Mahabodhi Temple. I was reluctant to move, while mom consistently pulled me by my arm, making me step forward forcibly. I merely inched, and that too through baby steps. Do you know why?

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BARKHA

“Pearls of my eyes, today I seek over again to solace you. Be still; I won’t let you sneak out through ages of love homed in my eyes.
Be gentle; ease me off to sleep, for I am awake since you left me. I am seized in the wait endless, staring forever at the skies.”

Mr. Partho Ghosh mumbled these words, his voice heavy, and eyes strained from insomnia. In between closing and reopening of his eye lids, he stared at the night sky through the open window close to his squealing bed. Stars displeased him.
He wanted sleep to take over him, but she had been meanest and rudest to him lately. This sixty two year old man, with his mind mused in some belonging he cared to keep alive forever, lived in a small one bedroom flat alone. His flat has a leaky roof and it damps after rain. People in general would hate that, but Partho loves it. He loves rain.

I watch Partho every time. I wish if I could help him out. But I am also a mere toy in hands of the almighty.

II

Mr. Partho was a poet, not by profession but yes he was very much passionate about it. His wife used to be the agonist in all of his story telling poetry. Things haven’t changed even today.

“Hello Mr. Partho, how are you doing?”, greeted Mr. Kashyap at the grocery store.

Mr. Kashyap was the fresher for the job from which Mr. Partho retired. Mr. Partho never accepted his promotion. He retired from the post which he had when he joined the company. He knew promotion brings ‘transfer’, and he never wanted to leave his home and his wife. He wanted to be in this town for ever and ever. Because it was here in this town where he met her for the first time.

“I am fine Babu Saheb, just the mornings have been a bit cruel to me. Nights are also no different”, replied Mr. Partho.

“I suppose you are not getting sleep properly. Your eyes tell the whole story.”

“I am sure they do, but I tell you that the sweet and memorable part of the story they don’t tell, and you will never know of it”, replied Mr. Partho.

“I see. But I suggest you that at this age you must not live alone. Moreover your health has been consistently declining.”

“What should I do then? Get myself registered at Briddhashram? I mean what you call as Old Aged Home? Hmm?”, questioned Mr. Partho stiffly.

“No no. I didn’t mean that. I mean you should invite your relative at your place or go to live at theirs sometime.”, replied Mr. Kashyap.

“Hehehe. No thank you. I have only one relative, and she visits me every year. I think that time of year has already arrived.”, and with this Mr. Partho walked away.

Mr. Kashyap kept trying to figure out what Mr. Partho kept mumbling as he passed across him.

Pains of Partho weaken me. I feel trembled. Even though I know what the old man wants but I can do nothing. After all I am also a mere toy in hands of the almighty.

III

I can see him from here, Mr. Partho has resumed with his poetry. Perhaps his diary of poetry can turn out to be the best seller if published, but Mr. Partho would never want to publish them.

“The chill, now the wind has contained. Kissing my neck with the breeze some sweet some sour. And in this breeze I…”,

Mr. Partho was gumming these words but then stopped as came the knock on his door. Mr. Partho walked towards the door. And the knock came for the second time.

As the door got opened, there she was holding a dishware; perhaps she had cooked something special and thought of sharing with Mr. Partho.

“Can I come in?”

“Yes. Please do come in Mrs. Dutta.”

Mrs. Dutta was Mr. Partho’s neighbor and his only friend. She was a year older than Mr. Partho.

“I know it’s a special day for you. I made something on this occasion. Wouldn’t you like to taste it?” asked Mrs. Dutta.

“Why not Mrs. Dutta. Its 11^th of August. Even if you ask me for poison, then I am ready to try that too on this day.”, said Mr. Partho laughingly.

“Why would I ask something like that Partho. Do you think I am mad? It’s your wife’s birthday. I have made a cake for you.”, replied Mrs. Dutta.

“Do you know Mrs. Dutta, I went to grocery store today. I did buy the ingredients. But when I started the work in my kitchen, I couldn’t put together all what Barkha used to do for preparing the cake. She used to cook so well, the vanilla puffed cake was her specialty. She never explained me how she used to make those lovely cakes. Neither did I care to learn. I used to think my wife will never leave me. She will stick to me till my breath will last.”

Mr. Partho got carried away. His eyes moist, and voice got heavy as he spoke his words. Silence prevailed in the room, and it seemed as if it’s going to last forever.

“Don’t say like that Partho. She never left you. It’s all destiny. God loved Barkha so much. And that’s why he…”

“Don’t you think I loved her too? I loved her more than God. She should have stayed here with me. Always. Forever.”, cried Mr. Partho, almost on the verge of breaking down he was.

Silence existed for few more moments. But it ended as Mrs. Dutta tried to fill the void.

“Now come on. Lets cut the cake. Its Barkha’s birthday and you are not going to disappoint her. She was a lovely wife. You must not sadden her by saddening yourself like this. Nature and its laws, we can’t go against it. Don’t you think so Partho?”

 “No Mrs. Dutta. I won’t cut the cake. I won’t celebrate until she gets back here. I want to get drenched with her caresses of love”, said Mr. Partho.

“Have you gone mad Partho? How can she come now?”, questioned Mrs. Dutta with surprisal.  

“You don’t know Mrs. Dutta. I have been waiting endlessly for her arrival. I have been calling out her name, looking at the skies all day and night”.

As came more of his words, the more he started to turn weak. It seemed as if he is going to fall down. But then Mrs. Dutta helped him to settle on the chair.

“Oh Partho. Please be seated. Don’t cry. Please don’t cry”

“Barkha!”, yelled Mr. Partho.

IV

Two hours swept on the clock. Mrs Dutta had left. And Mr. Partho was still on the chair, baffled and dejected. Suddenly tube light in the room flickered. It started with the lightening in the sky. As came the cracking of thunder in the sky, Mr. Partho woke up from his trance. He came to the window and glanced at the sky. A gush of adrenalin rushed inside his veins. Rushing outside of his flat, forgetting of the locks that he left open, he hurried towards the lawn.

It had started raining. As drops of rain touched his forehead, it seemed to him as if he got hold of his departed love from his life once again. Memories that his old eyes had preserved afresh, seemed to revive into existence. Pellets of rain, skinned over love and compassion from heaven solaced him.

Moving by the kitchen window of Mrs. Dutta’s house, he cried her name.

“Mrs. Dutta. Oh Mrs. Dutta. Come out and see. Barkha has arrived.”

 ...

As I told you before, I watch Mr. Partho always. I watch him closely all days and nights. But I am devoid of any emotions now. God turned me like this. Reasons are unexplainable that why he did so. However, I know what Mr. Partho wants. Every wife knows what his husband wants. He wants me back in his life. But how can I? I am also a mere toy in hands of the almighty.

Sorry, I didn’t introduce myself. I am… (sighs)
I was Barkha Ghosh, wife of an angel in reality, Mr. Partho Ghosh.

Image Courtesy: Google Images Search

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Good Health is the Happiness

How much do you think the title of this post is appropriate? Happiness is from the Good health you have. And the reverse of this is true as well, that the Good health is from the happiness. Happiness and  Good health, they enjoy the intimacy that cannot be fathomed with one or two scientific experiments. It is like one is because of the other. But, if we know this, why we lie surrounded with millions of reasons to be sad?

Dying, it’s the only thing to be sad over. Living unhappily is something else. There are so many people who are unhappy. Why is that so? For one thing, the culture we have does not make people feel good about themselves. We are being carried away by wrong teachings. We must be strong enough to say if the culture doesn’t work, don’t buy it. Create your own. Most people can’t do it. They tend to lie under the folds of unhappiness they wove for themselves. Having the privilege to live on this earth is in itself a big asset. Other things that upset us certainly stand much below this asset. 

I have been reading ‘Tuesdays with Morrie’ by Mitch Albom. The story revolves around a student and his professor of philosophy who is going to die of a dreaded disease. Teachings that the old and dying professor gives have started to refine me. I had always complained of various things that were not perfect for me. I had issues with everyone around me, and I frequently complained about them for not being at par with my expectations. And you won’t believe me, these notions culminated to sadden me and most of the time I used to stay restless clutched pondering over petty issues.

If we have a good health, that stands as the most precious asset for us. Staying happy nurtures the life we have got, and being sad kills it slowly. 
With every page I read of the book I mentioned, I am getting enlightened even more. A very good and essential read for them who have been feeling as if they are not able to reap most out of their lives.

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How to host CSS/JavaScript files on Google Drive

Did you ever think of writing your own CSS and JavaScript code and host it on the internet so that you may use it on your blog? Many geeky bloggers (well, I am not that geeky) and those who own free but customizable blogs (yes, like me) want to have their own widgets on their blogs. They want them to function exactly the way they wish to. Sometimes widgets imported from other blogs come with preset that may not suit our needs. So, for such bloggers it becomes essential to write their own scripts or edit the default ones. In both cases, you would need to upload your edited script files on some server and from there its link would be referred in the main widget code. But we on the boats of free service and with no server space can’t avail this facility to upload our files. Google Drive, the angel comes here to rescue. Google Drive is not just about uploading your necessary documents online but can also be used to host your script files which you may use to alter the widgets. Here I explain you how.

1) Upload your script file on your Google Drive.
2) Share the uploaded file and make it public.
3) Note down the URL of the file you just made public. It would be something like this: https://drive.google.com/file/d/0C4d6Av78BLPEfMUJWER9gtzdJdkE/edit?usp=sharing
4) Now copy the code of file (after https://drive.google.com/file/d/, and before /edit?usp=sharing) in our case it is this: 0C4d6Av78BLPEfMUJWER9gtzdJdkE
5) Just paste the code of file after this: https://googledrive.com/host/
In our case the final code will become: https://googledrive.com/host/0C4d6Av78BLPEfMUJWER9gtzdJdkE

And done, this final URL can be used anywhere on the internet now. You can use this to refer to external script for your widget.
For example, in our case the reference will be made as:
<script src="https://googledrive.com/host/0C4d6Av78BLPEfMUJWER9gtzdJdkE"></script>

If you find information here useful, please don't forget to 'share'. 'Like' my Facebook page and stay connected with trending topics here.


Image Courtesy: Google Images Search

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Heroes of an Unjust Story

I have seen him cleaning dishes. He is the one who picks up leftovers scattered on and around the dining table, and stacks our used plates before handing them over to the elderly lady who cleans them. Yesterday morning I saw him assisting one of the only two adult guys in the kitchen. He might not have known cooking, cleaning, and to bear up with crude words of people, before he stepped into this college. Unluckily he didn’t come here to study but came here in search of work. He now works here in our hostel mess, and is the youngest one among other children here like him who once came in search of work too. Our hostel mess runs through these people. Only two or three adult guys are here, and the rest bunch comprise of kids like him who as per looks seem not to have crossed the age of 12. And they run the entire mess and serve people staying in both of our hostels, First year hostel and Senior hostel. I forgot to mention, our hero manages the catering of our food too. He is the one who carries basket of puris from kitchen to our senior hostel’s dining hall. A kid of his age, with bitterness of luck we can never imagine to taste, roams before my eyes and I thank God for whatever he gave me. All of us should thank God for what they gave to us. And probably the kid thanks the God as well, who knows. People exist on this earth, you call it heaven or hell you say, with sorts of struggle in their lives that one can never imagine. Shivers come up when I recall of some stories deplorable even more than that of our hero’s. I have always called the luck as the ‘God’. Initially, it’s the luck ( what I call the God) decides our starting inning. Actions of that very individual then takes the charge and stride towards betterment. 

The hero talks with me in the dialect of his hometown. I reply in the same dialect as well. He smiles every time I see him, and I observe the innocence on his face. I want to be honest. I get emotional quickly, but I tell you that you will get melted too once you look into his eyes for a few seconds. I am afraid, but very less people would consider it worth for taking it seriously even when I say just for a few seconds only. That’s how the majority of people have been keeping themselves away from the unjust that’s breeding around us. We don’t consider it worth to seek our attention. And why don’t we believe so? It’s the money what matters to most, and that accounts degree of worthiness for such people. Will it be wrong if I say that our Educational Institution too practices such an ideology? Employing kids cost far less than employing adults. Maximize the profit, and may be in the process, help underprivileged people who are in urgent need of money; this can be another viewpoint of our College Authorities. Whatever be the case, one thing can be asserted for sure that kids are being deprived of their childhood and are somewhere being forced to turn into adults too early. Further, I see the whole matter in a way where I find that unjust in society stays as it is. 

I end up with a conclusion in my head that I draw in my own specific way, pardon me if I judge wrongly, ‘Unjustness is conserved. It can only be changed from one form to another’.  

Image courtesy : www.moma.org 

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Fix your blog: Wrong Image and Description on sharing URL

I had been facing this problem for quite long. I kept overlooking. Lately, I got determined to resolve this issue. What the problem lies is, sharing URL of my blog posts on social media websites used to fetch wrong description and image. Many times, the image fetched used to be my profile picture on my website. I wanted the image fetched should be from the blog post that I was sharing. Or, in case the blog post has no image, then a default image should be there which would be fetched on sharing the URL. This is exactly what I have done. Despite of your website platform, this method works. I am sharing here the necessary code snippet. You need to copy (click on view raw and then copy) the code below, and paste on your page before </head> tag.


In the code above, just edit ‘Your-default-image-url’ and paste the URL of the default image that you would like to get fetched if your blog post doesn’t contain any image. If the blog post has images, then the URL when shared, will pick up the first image from the post.

If you find this article helpful, do share the link. If you have any queries, then leave a comment and I will reply to you. 'Like' my Facebook page and stay connected to the trending topics here. :)

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