Commonword Blogs

I received an email to say that my short story ‘Maya’ has been selected as one of the winning entries in a competition run by Sampad.org and the British Council. Sampad Arts are celebrating the 150th birth anniversary of Rabrinath Tagore, the first Indian writer to win the Nobel Prize for Literature.

The story was chosen by the judges from 1400 entries of poems and short stories from over 30 countries.

“THE World is Maya, an illusion; fools, don’t chase after the transient, it will only cause heartache. Follow the holy path, its difficult brothers and sisters but if you’re vigilant, nothing can delude you. You are free, eternal and full of bliss; don’t become attached to petty material objects. Look at me for inspiration, I’ve taken sanyasa with the click of my fingers and donned the ochre robes. I’m only twenty-five with life before me and yet if I can succeed then all of you can!”

Yellow and red rush through the air, water drenches my clothes, laughter echoes and the sound of your golden anklets dances across the courtyard. The jingling melody arrests my attention; your feet make a special sound that cuts through the noise. My hands lift up two fistfuls of powder, red and blue- their aim is certain, to rub the colour to your fair cheeks, upon your dark hair and to see you smile. Yet the heart trembles, the triumphant bells of your anklets have already defeated the most daring of men. A bevy of angels surround you and they will not let any man pass.

They gathered along the wall to look down at the land that ran by the side; a rough uneven ground, flat for the most part with little grass, browned by the sun. From the edge of it, the goat was pulled by a small rope towards the statue of the Goddess. The priest wearing a white dhoti and red silk top, stood with a steel plate that had the puja articles upon it. He watched the goat along with the men around him, as the smell of dry earth mingled with incense sticks. A cool breeze blew across the ground and after a few minutes the goat began to shake. The men smiled and shouted Jai Mataji.

FIFI - by Vijay Medtia

Operator: 'Ridge Hall, computer assistance; may I help you?'
Caller: 'Yes, well, I'm having trouble with WordPerfect.'
Operator: 'What sort of trouble??'
Caller: 'Well, I was just typing along, and all of a sudden the words went away.'
Operator: 'Went away?'
Caller: 'They disappeared.'
Operator: 'Hmm So what does your screen look like now?'
Caller: 'Nothing.'
Operator: 'Nothing??'
Caller: 'It's blank; it won't accept anything when I type.'
Operator: 'Are you still in WordPerfect, or did you get out??'
Caller: 'How do I tell?'

Hi Nabila, Kabir is famous in India- you can have a look at his many poems. I like this one, still relevant after all these years. I haven't translated this, I just came across it and liked it. Vijay.

Moko Kahan Dhundhere Bande
Mein To Tere Paas Mein ....

Translation
Where do you search me?
I am with you
Not in pilgrimage, nor in ....