The Angry Lemon Plant

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 I have spent so many years following what others are doing. From academics to my personal life, I have blindly borrowed so many things from others. Yes, I have always cared for other's opinions. Yes, I have listened to other's judgments. I have done that all - just like so many people out there. 

And one day, out of nowhere I picked up a pen and scribbled the traits and habits I have acquired from others in a little notebook. And I wrote eighteen pages (front and back). 

Okay! A little less than eighteen pages - but they were enough to enlighten me and show me the way. I need to peel off my societal layers without thinking of the result. 

Then a phase comes when you start to give importance to your inner voice. You start looking at your own needs, requirements, and of course, wishes.

One such wish was to have a little garden of my own. When it comes to gardening and the stuff related to it, I was just too amateur. In fact, I had a bad experience with all the plants I had received as gifts on my birthdays. But the rule is to take care of your wishes. 

So I went to this cute little nursery which is quite near to my office. I bought Rose, lipstick aglaonema, and a little lemon plant. With a good experience with them, I gained some confidence and started getting more and more plants. Now I have a gulmohar, Mint, Neem, Aloe vera, and many other delicate as well as sturdy plants in my little gallery. 

Almost every morning, I sit among them and look at the minuteness and beauty of each of my plants. I have started feeling that each plant has a unique nature. Some seem to be loving and warm. Some are angry and irritated. A few of them are darn too aggressive and even turn violent sometimes. 

Just like my lemon plant.

While watering them, I got a bruise from one of the sharpest thorns of my lemon plant. My wrist even started bleeding a little. I looked at it and felt as if it was looking directly into my eyes, still in attack mode. 

I choose to ignore it.

But the other day a similar thing happened. I understood the fact that something needed to be done immediately.

I lifted the pot and placed it on the other side of the gallery, away from the rest of the plants. I grabbed my chair and started sipping my 'Bitterest - Black - Coffee'. 

On my left, there are lush green plants, loaded with flowers and green leaves. And on my right, there is this little lemon plant, looking directly at my face.

Suddenly I heard a group of kids giggling, shouting, and hooting - to tease someone. I looked to my right and saw a tweeny version of mine standing there - struggling to keep his hands up. And on my left, I recognized each and every face. I recognized each and every voice. I recognized each and every taunt. They still ring in my ears. I must be eleven or twelve, with tired arms, I was trying to hold my glasses, which were falling down my cheek.

My fault? I was discussing the episode of 'Shahid Bhagat Singh', which was telecasted the night before on DD National with the guy sitting next to me. The teacher caught me chattering with a little more animation than required in that particular conversation. 

She didn't miss the opportunity to comment on my exam scores and physicality - before 'throwing' me out of the class. When she left the class for some work, some students repeated what the teacher said, adding a little more creativity.

I immediately got up and placed the lemon plant among the other plants. I changed its place, but I couldn't bear the sight of the lemon plant alone, gazing at me. It was haunting my psyche.

The whole day I was thinking about that sight. I was overwhelmed and irritated that day, secretly suffering in my imagination. I concluded the day with the thought that I should receive a national award for overthinking from the Government of India.

A couple of weeks passed and I completely forgot about that day. Like every morning I was watering the plants and plucking dry leaves. I glanced at the lemon plant. When I looked at it closely, I was astonished at the sight. I saw two little lemons hanging joyfully from a low branch of the lemon plant.

 What a sight it was. 

That's the role of genuine companionship, love, and sympathy in one's life. One opens up all the locked and bolted gates of his or her heart. One feels safe and warm in your company - Just like my little lemon plant, which is not so little anymore.

And the national award of overthinking - Here I come.

Love, Laughter, and Peace

HRN

Tamasha and the Silsila of storytelling

"You know what, there is an abandoned church near my home" I whispered to my friend when our teacher told us to keep our heads down as she was having a headache.

My friend started paying attention to me. With his left ear attached to that wooden desk, he was looking directly into my eyes. 

"One day, I went near that church on my bicycle to collect lemon tree leaves for our science homework. I climbed the little boundary of the church to pluck some leaves when I heard the vibrating 'Tong' of some big bell from inside." He was darn curious.

(I started tapping my fingers on the desk to add sound effects of my footsteps toward the window of the church.)

"When I wiped the window of that abandoned church, I saw a group of people with white hair as cotton. a few of them even had big white beards. I was trying to understand what was happening when the whole group looked started looking at me."

My friend's eyes were now moving to and fro, grasping each word I was saying.

"Suddenly, a man with sunken shoulders and bloodshot eyes started gliding towards me, as if he was flying in the air. I took no time to understand that he has no feet."

"I ran for my life when I stumbled upon something and fall."

I tapped on the desk, a bit loud this time - Loud enough to spike a bit more pain in our Teacher's head... and throw me out of the class.

While going back home that day, my friend came running towards me. 

"Where do you live? I'll come to your home on my bicycle today, will you take me to that church?" I can't forget his puppy face.

"Not today brother. My cousin is coming from Bombay today. We will be visiting Appu Ghar in the evening.

I never had a cousin who ever lived in Bombay. Just like there was no abandoned church near my home.

I love telling and listening to stories since my childhood. I have always believed and made others believe that there is a lamp, on which if you rub gently, a genie comes out and asks for three wishes. I remember showing my cricket bat to one of my friends with a 'Brittania' logo on it. I made him believe that it was Virendra Sehvag's bat and the genie got that for me.

And on one occasion I told my Tuition teacher that I have the power to foretell people's past by looking at their palms. She gave me her hand and I told her that there was one stranger who came into her room when she was a newborn baby. And that stranger will again visit her life, and she needs to beware of him. She smiled and told me to concentrate on my fourth standard final exams.

I'm not a storyteller - But yes, I told stories to people on the occasions when people least expect them. Be it some incomplete homework excuse or some serious job interview, I had a compelling story for each occasion.

But then this phase came into my life when I had to forge a personality as per the rules set by someone else. I had to bring some 'so-called' necessary changes in my life. Like reading motivational and self-help books. Smile, no matter how phony it looks. Focus on doing firm handshakes. Shave daily. Nodding your head even if you disagree with something. Wear a card around your neck. Talk about work and management on tea and lunch breaks. Smile, and smile some more. 

Learn new English words each day and try to use them on daily basis. Run to catch that to-and-fro shuttle to the metro station. Run for some adequate space to stand in the metro. Smile at your co-passengers. Come back home and send smiling emoticons to the person you are talking to on WhatsApp.

Sleep.

Get up the next morning.

Repeat all that again.

I could not manage to maintain that personality for more than seven months.

One fine day, I met a friend of mine accidentally in the metro. We decided to have dinner together. While sitting in a little 'Dhaba' kind of structure, we started discussing theories about the possibility of life after death.

That night, I told a story to him about this boy who died and came back to life after an hour or so. And, during that commercial break between death and life, he saw paradise.

When the story ended, I noticed him looking directly into my eyes. I tried to look somewhere else. I feel uncomfortable when people look directly into my eyes - as if they will discover something that I don't want them to discover.

You should watch Tamasha

His words still ring in my ears.

And that night something magical happened. I watched the movie and I cried. Something had changed - I don't know what, but something surely changed. 

The next morning was as fresh as dew drops on the leaves in the garden. I woke up as an excited kid who loves telling and listening to stories. A kid who still reads stories from the Panchtantra and Arabian Nights.A kid who fell in love with the ghost stories of Ruskin Bond. A kid who loves writing short and simple stories, which are most of the time away from reality. 

And yes, I'm still trying to gain that confidence back to whisper stories of abandoned churches to my friend. One day I will be able to do that again.

So, my reader friend, everyone is born with some imbibed interest. But we let that interest or passion step down from the stage of our lives, and let other boring characters perform. Just like 'Prasar Bharati' appears out of a sudden on DD National, and that too between the final fight of 'Shaktiman and Tamraj Kilvish'. How will you react when something like this actually happens?

Don't do that, Please. I'm not saying you to leave your job and follow your passion. But don't let that passion die. Trust me, you will lead an ecstatic life - without even following what these new-age Gurus say. 

Another way of being happy is... to call me and I will tell you a good story... Umm... maybe of Ebenezer Scrooge and the Ghosts of the Past, Present, and the future. :-)

Thank you for reading this.

Chalo ab mai chala Hiran ke Shikar par...

Love, Laughter, And Peace

Himanshu R Nagpal

ps:- I'm writing more about the movie. So, stay tuned if you enjoyed reading this. :)