Snapshot of my story for a fiction project /Magazine

 

Maya gave an involuntary shake as that memory flashed in front of her. She remembered every small detail of that everyday ritual. How could she not! She used to get restless to see Satish and desperately wait for those magnolias he gave her. Jaya always envied her and she went all green-eyed looking at those magnolias in her hair. That was so childish of them, she thought. Nevertheless the memory gave a reason to put a smile on her face. That face which lost the path of smiles and embraced a perennial frown.

With the letter on one hand, she got up to examine those magnolias that they planted it together. They were given by Satish’s aunt on his birthday and what did he do with that. He urged Maya to take it with her and when she gently rebuked him for giving his own birthday gift, he came along with her post school hours and planted it on his own. Robbed off all plausible excuses, she had to submit to him and his childlike requests.

The bright little magnolias winked at her, swaying to the tunes of the wind, seated like a crownless queen among the profusion of flowers in her terrace garden. She picked one and inhaled the scent of it. The scent assaulted her senses and took her to the world unknown. Really Magnolias had magic, she deciphered. She took one hair pin and pressed the magnolia stem and slid between the teeth of the pin. Gently, she pinned it on her hair.

Examining the beauty of magnolia sitting on her hair, she felt like a class 10^th student again. Standing in front of Satish with Jealous Jaya by her side.

And what about those magnolias that stood the test of the day? Were they still treasured?

Maya opened the chest of drawers. The worn-out wooden furniture rattled making a grating noise. A brown coloured little diary belched its stomach as numerous sheets were pressed inside its thin figure.

The withered magnolias were prisoned inside the diary away from human eye. Bringing them to her nose and inhaling the remnant of their fragrance, she was transported to the different world altogether. Like the coffee dregs in a mug, these little memories stood tethered to her. Only difference is the water washes off the dregs but here nothing could wash off those memories. Certainly not!

Poetic Saturdays - The Frog and the Nightingale by Vikram Seth

 Once upon a time a frog

Croaked away in Bingle Bog
Every night from dusk to dawn
He croaked awn and awn and awn
Other creatures loathed his voice,
But, alas, they had no choice,
And the crass cacophony
Blared out from the sumac tree
At whose foot the frog each night
Minstrelled on till morning night

Neither stones nor prayers nor sticks.
Insults or complaints or bricks
Stilled the frogs determination
To display his heart's elation.
But one night a nightingale
In the moonlight cold and pale
Perched upon the sumac tree
Casting forth her melody
Dumbstruck sat the gaping frog
And the whole admiring bog
Stared towards the sumac, rapt,

And, when she had ended, clapped,
Ducks had swum and herons waded
To her as she serenaded
And a solitary loon
Wept, beneath the summer moon.
Toads and teals and tiddlers, captured
By her voice, cheered on, enraptured:
"Bravo! " "Too divine! " "Encore! "
So the nightingale once more,
Quite unused to such applause,
Sang till dawn without a pause.

Next night when the Nightingale
Shook her head and twitched her tail,
Closed an eye and fluffed a wing
And had cleared her throat to sing
She was startled by a croak.
"Sorry - was that you who spoke? "
She enquired when the frog
Hopped towards her from the bog.
"Yes," the frog replied. "You see,
I'm the frog who owns this tree
In this bog I've long been known
For my splendid baritone
And, of course, I wield my pen
For Bog Trumpet now and then"

"Did you… did you like my song? "
"Not too bad - but far too long.
The technique was fine of course,
But it lacked a certain force".
"Oh! " the nightingale confessed.
Greatly flattered and impressed
That a critic of such note
Had discussed her art and throat:
"I don't think the song's divine.
But - oh, well - at least it's mine".

"That's not much to boast about".
Said the heartless frog. "Without
Proper training such as I
- And few others can supply.
You'll remain a mere beginner.
But with me you'll be a winner"
"Dearest frog", the nightingale
Breathed: "This is a fairy tale -
And you are Mozart in disguise
Come to earth before my eyes".

"Well I charge a modest fee."
"Oh! " "But it won't hurt, you'll see"
Now the nightingale inspired,
Flushed with confidence, and fired
With both art and adoration,
Sang - and was a huge sensation.
Animals for miles around
Flocked towards the magic sound,
And the frog with great precision
Counted heads and charged admission.

Though next morning it was raining,
He began her vocal training.
"But I can't sing in this weather"
"Come my dear - we'll sing together.
Just put on your scarf and sash,
Koo-oh-ah! ko-ash! ko-ash! "
So the frog and nightingale
Journeyed up and down the scale
For six hours, till she was shivering
and her voice was hoarse and quivering.

Though subdued and sleep deprived,
In the night her throat revived,
And the sumac tree was bowed,
With a breathless, titled crowd:
Owl of Sandwich, Duck of Kent,
Mallard and Milady Trent,
Martin Cardinal Mephisto,
And the Coot of Monte Cristo,
Ladies with tiaras glittering
In the interval sat twittering -
And the frog observed them glitter
With a joy both sweet and bitter.

Every day the frog who'd sold her
Songs for silver tried to scold her:
"You must practice even longer
Till your voice, like mine grows stronger.
In the second song last night
You got nervous in mid-flight.
And, my dear, lay on more trills:
Audiences enjoy such frills.
You must make your public happier:
Give them something sharper snappier.
We must aim for better billings.
You still owe me sixty shillings."

Day by day the nightingale
Grew more sorrowful and pale.
Night on night her tired song
Zipped and trilled and bounced along,
Till the birds and beasts grew tired
At a voice so uninspired
And the ticket office gross
Crashed, and she grew more morose -
For her ears were now addicted
To applause quite unrestricted,
And to sing into the night
All alone gave no delight.

Now the frog puffed up with rage.
"Brainless bird - you're on the stage -
Use your wits and follow fashion.
Puff your lungs out with your passion."
Trembling, terrified to fail,
Blind with tears, the nightingale
Heard him out in silence, tried,
Puffed up, burst a vein, and died.

Said the frog: "I tried to teach her,
But she was a stupid creature -
Far too nervous, far too tense.
Far too prone to influence.
Well, poor bird - she should have known
That your song must be your own.
That's why I sing with panache:
"Koo-oh-ah! ko-ash! ko-ash! "
And the foghorn of the frog
Blared unrivalled through the bog.

 

This poem by Vikram Seth, a popular author and poet, starts with the usual fairy tale phrase ‘Once upon a time’ to engage us and hook us into the poem. The message is in the details so let’s go inch by inch to get closer to the mountain of wisdom that it offers.

There are two main characters in the poem – Frog and Nightingale. All other creatures are part of the narrative.

The frog used to sing from dusk to dawn in its harsh and unpleasant voice. Certainly, other creatures did not have any good thing to say about his voice. They detested the very sound of it and they suffered greatly from his crass cacophony. The humiliation and insults, the gruesome remarks by other animals did not bother the frog as it went on with its singing routine.

It went on for days but for one night. The night which made the frog uncomfortable in its own lodging. That was the night when the sweet nightingale started larking with its sonorous voice. Perched on the sumac tree, the melody spread far and beyond and the entire animal kingdom whispered, clapped, cheered and sang praises after the song ended. The song invited attention from all the creatures from toads to ducks. They extolled and exclaimed praises with the words like ‘Divine, Bravo and Encore’. The nightingale was pleased by the applauding ceremony and decide to lend its voice again without a pause.

The next night when she started to sing with her closed eye, the frog intervened. Alarmed by the grated croak, the nightingale met the frog who chose to not take this thing lightly. The frog started blowing its trumpet and boastfully exposed its position in the forest. Nightingale, not knowing the nature and hidden agenda of the frog, did not distance herself, but asked the feedback and suggestions of any improvement. The frog, noticing the meek demeanour of the sweet bird, offered to guide and train.

The morning after, the frog commenced the training and in the name of the training abused the nightingale. The nightingale was not only exploited for the tutoring fees but the frog criticised every effort of the bird. The nightingale did not recognize the malicious intent of the frog and kept on working hard to suit to the taste of the abuser. Then a day came when the nightingale could bear no more and started feeling sad and disinterested. The creatures lost interest on such a sad voice.

The frog ultimately insulted the nightingale with a words that seared the bird badly. The tears streamed down and the little bird sobbed profusely. Shaking with fear, the bird puffed up once more but the death snatched away the bird and her sweet voice.

Well, the frog was too proud to take on the guilt and own the crime. Instead, it pour more insults on the little bird. The last stanza spoken by the frog makes us think deeply. The words “That your song must be your own – She should have known”. How accurate! One should never try to get so influenced by another that he loses himself in the process. The frog couldn’t bear the sight of one more creature with a singing talent far superior than its own. The frog hatched a plan to destroy the nightingale. And the nightingale, a meek character in this allegory submitted not knowing the details behind the plan. 

Let’s plumb the depth of this poem:

This poem tells us to believe in ourself, our own strength and do not get overly influenced by others. We should have confidence and faith in our capabilities and strengths. We shouldn’t get easily swayed by others opinions or criticisms. The nightingale was a submissive type who easily believed in the external influence and overlooked her own talent.

Also, it is very easy to tell others and judge others but we need to look within ourselves. To know if we are capable enough in that particular subject to give a constructive feedback. The frog was not talented enough but behaved as if he is and continued to give unhealthy opinion and that did not go down well with the little bird. The little bird was not capable enough to identify the malicious intent not it could manage to know that the frog had a poor voice.

Bullying are of different types. This poem portrays verbal bullying, showing uppity/one up-man ship and dictating terms to the less powerful character. Be vigilant of this kind of bullying. Do not be friends with this kind of company where you will be ill-treated and be looked down upon.

The frog was very wrong in taking advantage of the poor nightingale. The frog did know, from the insults that came on his way, that he was not talented enough to sing, yet his conceit blinded him. He went on singing. When the nightingale sat on his throne, the frog should have known that the bird had a supreme quality and far better than him. We can have aspirations to become an artist, a singer, a dancer or a phenom in any other field. Sometimes, we put lot of effort to become one but not always it clicks. Maybe because we are not made for that field or it is not our cup of tea. The frog, not knowing this, did all the ill things. We can stop comparing ourselves to oranges when we are apples ourselves. We can stop comparing our children to the next-door neighbour’s children, taking this as cue.

Every effort we put cannot have to be converted into reality at the stroke of midnight. Every effort of today can bear fruit the next minute, the following day, one year later, or it can take many years. We should not lose hope but be consistent in our work.

The nightingale though it stated ‘"I don't think the song's divine.
But - oh, well - at least it's mine", did not stick to this statement as it felt dejected and discontented with no praises coming on her way. She should have been firm and sang only for her heart’s content. Only for her happiness and satisfaction. This gives us one more reason not to miss this poem as it emphasizes on the key aspect of ‘If you like doing something, do it, more for yourself; try not to think or worry what others think about it’.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Poetic Saturdays - Analysis of 'The School Boy' by William Blake

 

William Blake brought in usual naturalness (which was also one of the themes of that era) in this poem. A boy dons the hat of first-person and exhibits his boredom in the structured format of schooling. He prefers to explore in the wilderness, with the fragrance of the blooms, and with the chirping raga of feathered creatures or in the mountain wastelands.

 He finds joy and comfort in the routine undertakings of the morning when he says in the first stanza  “I love to rise in the summer morning, the distant huntsman winding the horn and the skylark sings with me”. 

The second stanza drives the joy away from the boy’s mood when he thinks about how he, along with his mates, will be forced to be observed under the cruel eye (which can mean a teacher in this parlance). And he doesn’t want that to happen.

The boy stresses on the problems of formal learning and thinks that there is nothing that he cannot learn in the natural world. Schooling stifles innate imagination and joy of learning, is the thought behind his verses.

He goes on describing the climate of the structured learning. He sits ‘drooping’ hunched over his bench. There is no joy in drowning in the affairs of the books. He wants to be free in the open space which he is not able to do with the heavy downpour ‘dreary shower’ being the obstacle in his way.

The fourth stanza is a reality check for the reader. The boy compares himself with a bird. Certainly, a bird is born for joy but how can it find one if it is caged. Can it throw its sonorous voice or can it fly away freely, all siting cooped up in a cage? The cage is a metaphor here drawing a parallel to the school. The school, like a cage, spoils the creativity and limits the creative freedom to the children.

The boy even addresses his conflict to his parents.  He uses new buds as metaphor. Can a bud be nipped in the infancy meddling with the joy that they are born to exude? Can a tender child be disallowed to enjoy and fancy a similar joy? Can his parents change the course of this situation? He clearly doesn’t understand if they are equipped to, but still he wants them to see some sense in his entreaties. The yearning for carefree joy and exploration still remains alive in the boy’s mind. And towards the end of poem, he clearly does not achieve any satisfaction or solution but he expresses his thought on his routine life.

A structured format of learning poses barrier to creativity. This has been achieved by many poets and not only Blake. The tendency to romanticize the nature element can be found in many poems in the period of Romanticism. You can find a poem by William Wordsworth ‘ The Tables Turned’ which is also of the Romantic age. That poem too like Blakes’ puts an emphasis on educating ourselves through the medium of nature.

 “Enough of Science and of Art; Close up those barren leaves; come to the nature, and bring with you a heart that watches and receives – This stanza in that Woodsworth’s poem strikes a chord with this school boy in Blake’s poem.

Even this was somewhat true when we were in schools. The methods were not innovative but stressed more on textbook approach. Right now, the pedagogy sees some change. The core skills and key learning concepts are devised in a way that they enjoy it with experiments and more tactile based approach.  Now there is more application over conservative approach that we all were used to in our times. Many of us have looked our school journey through this boy’s eyes. Change was very far off but it was not impossible. Yet the system did not welcome any new strategy. Right now, even with the technology and new improvised methods, the rat race has not stopped. Ultimately, children are met with the pressure and turmoil in one way or other, leading to withering of interest. Sometimes, the faculties are not given enough creative freedom to innovate and with the lack of motivation and time constraint, the learning methodology suffers.

Coming to this poem, the school boy teaches us to keep our eyes open and have a relationship with nature. There is always a way to include environmental exploration in the method of learning. The responsibility can be shared between educators and parents, both collectively. There is no end to learning and learning doesn’t stop when the school bell rings and children walk off from school. It continues and will continue for lifetime. Also let’s give some respite to this fictional school boy and keep the light of learning ignited when we travel to some place or when we are with the nature. Mindfulness is the key.