What are those ten scrolls?

One of my friends in one of his letters to me, mentioned this incomplete story.......He said it was a 2000 year old tale. And it goes like this...

Once upon a time there lived a successful salesman called Hafid. He lived in an elegant palace equipped with all sorts of amenities and luxuries of that time. During his last days he asked his truthful servant and friend to distribute all his wealth to the poor after his death and also bequeathed him his entire wealth and treasures. Later he had taken his servant to a deserted room in a corner in his palace that was kept locked for decades. The only object within that room was an old chest containing some tattered scrolls. Showing them to his servant Hafid said,"When a star had followed me from the sky,recognizing my good deeds, my guru gave these scrolls to me. I owe all my success, happiness, love, wealth and inner peace that I'm enjoying now to the  knowledge which was scribbled in these ten scrolls. And I had been instructed by my guru to pass them on to my next successor, on whose arrival a star reappears on the sky."

He stopped the story here and told me that he would finish the remaining part in his next letter. Of course that didn't happen. I too had forgotten about that in the mean time. It has been almost three years since then. Today while I was rearranging the books in my cupboard I found a bunch of letters which I had received from my friends. So many letters....They were all about sharing and caring. I had spent all my evening in reading them. How beautiful!! My precious letters are. Some funny,some emotional,some poetic,some inspiring, some condemning, some arguing, some longing and together they all poked the dormant memories of the time when I was engaged in vigorous lettering. Somehow I had stopped lettering unconsciously. Hmm...I must resume that. Of course texting and mailing are prevalent these days. But a letter written by our own hand is incomparable in this technological pandora's box. A letter in its folds contains the fragrance of our dear ones for ages.

After a while, when I was lone and feeling lonely, I just reach for one of my letters, unfold it and caress its ragged surface only to come up with the questions and thoughts like "what are those ten scrolls?"

People change, but the words and feelings in these letters, they never change.......

-By Viroti Somasekhar

No one cares if I don't bloom......

Spring has come again. No one cares if I don't bloom.But I bloom. After all, this is what I was born for.
After the depressing winter has gone,there comes a promising spring, bringing with it the fragrance of vernal blooms. New tender leaves grow on older twigs...so we get a fresh look filled with grace. We grow with seasons.Spring goes, Rain comes. Rain goes giving ground to the Winter. And it goes on until we fall. I don't know how old I'm. Not too old and not too young perhaps. I always want to share my pride. The unspoken pride of a Tree, though it is of minuscule significance in this vast world. I always feel proud of what I have been through and what I am now. I just need someone who has a heart to hear my story. My story may sound a bit bland. Nevertheless it is a story worth listening. I want to share: How I felt when I first saw the Sun and felt the air and water when I was just a little shoot; How I withstood the anomalies of nature; How I felt when I first flowered. How it feels to stand against the scorching heat,lashing storm and freezing winter; How it feels to stand rooted to a single place. How I wept when my friends were chopped down; How I danced with the crooning wind in those harmonious evenings; How we always give or do something useful within our remit. How I waited for someone to share my story. It seems like a small list. But that is all I could express for the present with my little immature experience. Hmm....lets see who comes near to hear my story....Anyway the spring has just arrived. Time to bloom...

-By Viroti Somasekhar

When I was seven.,

When I was 7 years old, we used to live in a rented house in a semi urban area within the remit of Vizag.I was studying 2nd class then.I got 3 friends:Sai,Rama and Srikanth at home.They went to another schools,so we would play together in the evenings after school and on Sundays.Among these 3 Srikanth's house was adjacent to ours.He rarely came out to play,so I didn't remember much about him except for a small fray in which we both bullied each other about who had got the good name.Ha ha ha....I don't remember who won.

         When it comes to Rama and Sai, I really enjoyed their company.Rama was lissome and always had a fringe hair cut.Her house was a few yards off ours.There was a small open place in front of her house and we used to play there.When it rained water would pool in the center of that open place,making a small pond.We would leave paper boats in that little pond and observed while they were moving to the occasionally blowing wind.While playing I used to tease her by calling 'Pakija".She would go and complain to her mother.Aunt would come and say "Sekhar,it is not fair to call like that,never call her with that name".I would nod innocently 'Okay aunt,I'd never do that", like a good boy.Well the cycle would repeat.She was very crafty at catching butterflies and dragonflies.It was she who taught me how to catch them.She had been suffering from asthma at that age.Whenever I went to her house to call her out for playing she was seen sneezing into the pistol shaped plastic inhaler and taking some colorful mint like tablets.I found that activity very interesting and amusing.That I liked the puffing sound while she was using inhaler and wanted to do like that.Of course I never dared to ask aunt for that favor.

          Sai's house was an independent and old one surrounded by a fence.Creepers and bushes with different colored flowers coiled along that fence.Their house was like a little garden that I liked staying there. Sai's face always reminded me of an egg.He was stout but unstable in his movements.He couldn't run fast,couldn't talk clearly and when it comes to physical activity he was an under performer.I did always bet him about a running race and we ran to the other end of the ground which was ended up by a compound wall and returned to the starting point.Rama would sit and watch our race.I always won.I used to spend a lot of time at Sai's house.There we used to play a funny game with tamarind seeds.His mother would sit by,watch us and would guide Sai about how to play.Here also I used to claim all the seeds at the end.His mother would scold Sai for not playing well.I had to cross a bushy ground for reaching his house.That ground was full of yellow colored locusts.At that age I dreaded them so much as everyday I prayed to God,asking him to take away all those locusts from earth so that I could reach Sai's home without fear.

       In rainy season we three had a lot fun in catching the new off spring of frogs.Rama always feared to touch them but enjoyed watching while Sai and I were catching them.Sai was so blunt that he squeezed those tiny things unconsciously and most of them were dead in his hands.Some times monkeys did visit that ground and we would watch them from a safe distance,clapping,making loud cries and laughing at their funny gestures.It went like that for sometime.

          All of a sudden one day I woke up as usual in the morning and perplexed to find a Tiger's wall paper on the wall in front of me.I remembered that there was no such thing in my house.I wanted to get off the bed and fell to the floor.That bed was not ours.Ours was much smaller than that.Darn, that house was not ours.I was not in my house.But I was sure that last night I went into cozy sleep while listening to a bed time story told by Dad,who slept by my side.Where am I?I wondered.While I was sunk in my dilemma,that aunt came in with smiling face and told me that last night my brother got serious and couldn't breath well and was taken to hospital by my parents,Since I was fast asleep I was shifted to their house in sleep.Things got blur and I didn't remember much after that incident.We had moved to Vizag,brother was admitted in KGH.

     Rama might have been married to someone by now.Sai and Srikanth might be doing a job or some kind of business somewhere.I'm not sure whether they remember me....Whatever...I remember a small part of my past...well it is beautiful.

-By Viroti Somasekhar

The Fallen

The Fallen!!........Never count a Fallen One as an inferior.....
The story of a Fallen One is as intriguing as that of a Winner.
He might not have won the battle.... But what makes him worth remember is that...
He shows the same wit and gri...t during the battle.
He holds on to the fight amidst several bedlams.
He puts all his energy into the battle....for him it is living.It is meditation.It is an art.It is prayer.And it is his destiny.
He uses battle as a medium of communication to declare who is bound to win.
And after the battle is over,he humbly accepts the result and starts preparation for his next successful strike.
Finally he makes us realize that he is in no way inferior to the Winner, as it is that last moment which holds the fate of the fight, is the only difference between them.Except for that he matches his opponent in every skill to a great extent.

A Fallen One can be equally placed beside a Winner as an inspiring personality. Maybe we are too used to read the tales of Winners. After all history is all about triumphants.

 How about getting out of the rut..... Let's imbibe the spirit of a Fallen One... Let their stories awake from the apathy and degradation. Start collecting the tales of losers.... If not available....write one..... Galore of Fallen Ones are hanging out there.... When you find them try not to miss experiencing the gleam in their eyes while narrating their stories....... All of us are bound to fall at a magical moment in our lives and are left with two options in our hand. Rise..!?Don't Rise..!?....... For a Fallen One the choice may not always be the ideal one ...It is because he is The Fallen... And he commits mistakes....
-Warrior within