PARIJAT-12

The river has become narrow. The construction work is progressing from both the banks simultaneously. Artificial islands have been created for smooth progress of work. The aim is to restrict that undisturbed and uninterrupted flow of water to the down stream. The flow needs to be controlled by constructing a barrage. The works move on at a feverish pace. Suddenly the stream has become turbulent and rough. It now flows with a hissing sound angry over the apparent encroachment on its freedom. It has been narrowed down with restriction. The dissatisfaction is obvious. It protests. It pleads. It persuades but to no avail. It is like conservative parental restriction on recently flowered girl. But can we restrict that bubbling spirit of youth and the quest for that forbidden pleasure. That zeal, zest, anxiety and curiosity need to be channeled before it breaks the barrier of restrictions. The flow in the river is increasingly becoming rough. The artificial islands created by driving wooden lugs into water are creating whirlpool of different sizes. The big whirlpools are the sure sign of agitation inside. It is the initial sign of that rebel to crop up with all its compressed and coiled might.

John could see that and sense that. It is matter of time for that gushing water of that churlish hilly lass to break that restriction and set free by eroding away the artificial islands created to facilitate the construction work. The zeal has been further augmented by overnight rain so rare in winter. It needs to be guided. It needs to be redirected. It is New Year eve. A holiday looks of merry-making all round. The artificial island on either side of the river bank needs to be slit in the middle to create additional water path. John called for those gigantic earth excavators of the construction site. It needs a careful maneuverings. He wanted to monitor that slitting all by himself. Both side of the slit needs to be protected by immediate stone pitching to prevent regular erosion.

The morning sun is moving up. It has taken, already taken a huge angle from the horizon. Soon it will be perpendicular and direct over head. John moved under the shade of the tamarind tree of near the river bank. The bushy and small leaves of tamarind tree always render a smoothness and tenderness to bright and scorching sun of noon. The smooth winter breeze of the river flutters the tamarind’s leaves like the busy wings of bees. The air is refreshing with mild tangy smell of tamarind’s leaves. John could feel that tangy tenderness all-around him. It is caressing him with mildness of exotic feathers of peacock. It is smooth,tantalizingly smooth.

It is smoo Eyes are dropping down. John could see from distance the two giant excavators moving up their booms from opposite directions, front to front before they strike in tandem on the freshly laid sandy earth of artificial island with vigor of two fighting cobras. The distance between the excavators approaching from opposite directions is closing on. The job is being carried as directed by John. The slit will appear soon to redirect that energy. The flow of water will be smooth and tired.

John’s eyes are dropping further. It is becoming narrow. It is the last day of the year. The time has moved fast. It has moved ahead before John could realize it. It has been hectic and absorbing too. John could hear the occasional sound of drums, erratic, unsynchronized sound of drums. Somebody is testing those drums. The labour colony is gearing up for the night of amusement in the welcome of a new beginning, a new hope and a new dream. Reels of past days of the departing years flashed before him. He tried to remember everything. He did not remember the moments of his technical brilliancy that has left his colleague speechless. He did not try to remember his rather simple and astute solutions to the seemingly difficult problems. The son of the plumber from the obscure village of eastern India has traveled far, far more than expected. Nothing has become smooth. No road was paved for him. It was always slushy and muddy with nerve racking bent and undulation. He has crossed those all alone with single mind determination to succeed and excel. He remembered those so called lesser mortals who have made a difference to his thinking and living. In the closed eyes under the sun shade of tamarind tree his memory floated back to that brilliant talkative stone cutter boy who brings the lemon tea with honey, to the mesmerizing and enchanting flute of Raghu which touches the every chords of the soul, to the agile septuagenarian Muthu and his sense of responsibility, to the sense of togetherness and leadership of Marandi and his art of staying together , to the reassuring hand of Papaji , to the giggling Mini Jacob, no, it is Mini JOHN Jacob and her biting the earlobe before his departure to this new construction site, to the survival instinct of that barber, to the brilliant and unrecognized talent of Raja and his feeling of impotency and to his friend Jacob sleeping under the blanket of Parijats, his clasping hand on John’s hand before he closed his eyes for ever not to see this world once again.

Ah! It is big and real big family for him at the construction site. He gets the love of family; the love of sharing. He belongs to this big family of lesser mortals so lively, so unassuming, so simple and so caring. It needs a bigger heart to realize this. It needs a bigger mind to understand this. It needs a deeper sight to see this. The mother earth teaches that, the nature teaches that but it seems as if we never learn. Petty minds engaged in petty things.

The yell of the one of the excavator operator brought back John to the present. He is calling John to have a look on the work carried out. The work is over. The water has been redirected to the newly opened slit. The gushing sound in the main stream has receded. With the departing sunlight of the day John could see smaller and smaller whirlpool as water gets redirected to newly opened slit on the artificial island.

The celebration at the camp has already begun. John knew his construction camp is a miniature India. It is congregation of people from different parts of India. Different languages, different religions, different foods, different cultures, different dresses and in fact different body languages but in the end it is that fragrance , that essence of mutual respect ,hospitality, togetherness, brotherhood ,God fearing attitude, simplicity and shear love for that Mother land which bind them together. You do not find Indian in the street of India, you find him in the heart of an Indian.

The New Year celebration is fast approaching climax. It is sound of drum, flute, long trumpet, tambur, sehnai and conch all mixed together representing diversity of India while singing the unity of India.

In the crescendo of the celebration one heavyset laborer drags John towards his camp. His eyes are beaming in pleasure. He carries the expression and joy of divinity. Words do not flow, it is incoherent in joy. He drags and drags John to his new born, a beautiful girl born on the onset of New Year, carrying the saga of a new age, a new era, a new time, a new hope and a new aspiration with a new smile. She clinches her fists and cries. No, she sings. John could read that; he could feel that. Those tight fists are sign of unity while she wishes a “HAPPY NEW YEAR” in her song.

PARIJAT-11

It is drizzling outside. It is mild. It does not have the ferocity of a shower. It is an isolated low level cloud of hill side. The winter wind is mild enough to drag it. But it is soothing enough to send the sensation to trigger that laughter. It is laughing in sensation, the sensation pleasurably pleasant. The entire body is quivering as it is shedding the tears in form of big drops. John looked to that dark cloud, it looks sensual. It is beautiful. It is look of a nubile about to engross herself in the first sensual touch of her lover. It is look of semi closed dropping eyes in anticipation of an unknown pleasure. It is difficult to describe. It has no language. It is beyond description. It beggars description.

John stretched his look. It is a new day about to tell the story of new challenges. Look to it the way you want to look. It is mixture of all ingredients of life love, hate, fear, pleasure, and anger, every emotion you can think of. The drizzling is slowing down. It has almost stopped. A beam of sunrays has entered into the room uninvited through the semi closed window. It is bright and crimson. Tiny dust particles are floating around, in random movements. No aim, no purpose: it is mere existence. Have we all come to this world with no purpose, with no aim? How many times we have introspected that? How many moments of this life we have lived with a purpose? How many moments we have spent for a cause? Have we not engrossed ourselves in routine resembling the purposeless movements of tiny dusts?

John came out. It is feeling of missing something. It is about to express itself, but yet it is concealed. John tried to read that. He failed to comprehend. It is around him. It is encircling him. He could feel it. It is like cold winter breeze, all around him, but he can not see that. It is like cry of a child. It cries and cries. But it never says why. The adult inside him has taken a back seat. The adult is loosing the grip; he is growing tiny, increasingly tiny. He wants to wail, wail aloud. But why? Oh mother, will you comfort me? Will you cajole me? I miss you. I want to cry. Are you listening? You must be listening. I can sense you. I can feel you. I can listen the song of your heart, rhythmically beating for welfare of me in this auspicious day of 25^th December. John is crying, the cry of a child. In the morning sun of construction site, isolated, he is crying.

The loveable Papaji is taking measurements. He is taking measurements of steel reinforcement to be used for concrete. He is a towering and elderly Sikh with his favorite saffron turban. He cracks jokes while he works. Mostly he jokes on himself. It requires a big heart to laugh on yourself. Certainly Papaji possess that big heart. He is from the land of five rivers the Punjab. It carries history. It carries stories of great warriors of history: the stories of braveries and supreme sacrifices. The Punjab has bled in each outsider onslaught. It has become two pieces between two neighbuoring and yet rivaling countries. Yet it smiles, yet it laughs. It is the land of Sikh Guru holy Nanak, the founder of SIKHISIM that narrates the story of supreme brotherhood.

Papaji is the head of steel reinforcement fabricators at construction site. He carries the years of experiences. He has his own style of working. He is a mere fabricator. But he studies engineering drawings with the accuracy of an experienced and accomplished engineer. He does not require complex trigonometry formulae to calculate the length of a particular reinforcement shown in the drawing. All that he needs a big and smooth cemented platform. He breaks the drawing to pieces and draws that to full scale on the cemented platform. He draws the concrete member first and then the shape of the reinforcement on it as shown in the drawing. Bingo, the shape of reinforcement is now all apparent in full scale to take measurement and fabricate it. It is ingenious, quite ingenious.

Papaji is with John from the day, John joined as apprentice at the construction site. In the beginning he had the usual difficulty of an inexperienced engineer fresh out of college. It looks new, everything new. John feels utterly helpless when he sees those big blue prints at construction site. Those never look familiar to him. Asking seniors means risking his job. John can not afford to do that. He must find a way out. Perturbed to core, John one day discovered the cemented platform of Papaji. His enthusiasm grew further when he saw the friendly smile and calmness of father figure Papaji’s face. John remembered the old saying of his childhood teacher. Sack your ego, if you wish to learn. Bear the inquisitiveness of child, if we wish to learn. Knowledge is teacher. Learn to recognize that, learn to respect that. Surrender to that. A teacher teaches; he is always respected; he can be anybody. John vividly remembers those days, the teaching of Papaji, his ingenious method of simplifying the drawing, a whole to parts and again reassembled to whole.

Papaji is reading John. He recognizes each movements of John. He could sense the emptiness in John’s face. Face is reflection of mind. It reflects your inner core. You can not hide that even if you wish to hide. Papaji is scanning John’s face. His eyes riveted on John. He could read him, whole to parts and again reassembled to whole. It is no difficult for him.

Evening is drawing nearer. Workers are returning to camp after the day of hard works. Today is “BADA DIN” (the Big Day), December, 25th. The pang of morning again resurfaced. John felt miserable. He stretched himself in that arm chair and looked to the wall. The second hand of the old wall clock moving, moving fast. Outside is outrageously calm. The night is descending fast. It is also moving fast like the second hand of wall clock. He could only hear the sound of second hand, monotonous and rude. Time moves. It does not care who is lost, who is lost forever. Who wins? Who loses? Past will write that. Time has no time to wait. It moves. Run along if you can. John could feel he is gathering weight, the weight loneliness. He closed his eyes. From the nearby temple the sound of bells started singing the praise of the Lord. It will continue for sometimes, the priest is offering the last prayer of the day.

Somebody is knocking the door. The door is not locked from inside. Papaji did not wait for John to open the door. He came inside and extended his hand to lift John from the arm chair. John accepted that knowing very well Papaji is twice of his age. Sometimes the extended hand of old and experienced is very comforting. John needs that today.

It is dark, pitch dark outside. There is no power cut. But why it is dark? Who has switched off the lights of construction site and labour camp? Papaji is almost dragging him. From a distance he could see something red, the sign is apparent and familiar. It is a red star light. As Papaji guided John towards that red star, suddenly the labour colony sprang back to life. John could see bright fluorescent lights everywhere. The darkness has hidden its face in shame. Then came the sound, the sound John was so eager to listen, it is like an enchanting chant, so familiar, so soothing. Hundred flutes will hide their faces in shame. They can not match that sweetness; they can not match the divinity of that crescendo. It is a song, song from the souls, it sings in unison “MERRY CHRISTMAS, JOHN”.

It is one of the rooms of labour camp. The occupant has vacated it temporarily. There in the middle of room stands a nicely decorated Christmas Tree telling the story of worship of the evergreen tree as a symbol of the everlasting life. Behind it, John sees photo of Mother Mary with infant Lord. Tears rolled down; it is uncontrolled. John did not want to control it. It is tears of morning, tears of wailing John. Let it flow. It is tears of love. Suddenly he started realizing the pangs of the morning. Papaji could read that, it is easy –whole to parts and again reassembled to whole.

With tear brimmed eyes john knelt before the Mother Mary with infant LORD. His eyes closed in love and gratitude. He could hear a carol in praise of the Lord. Who sings that? It is secular India, led by Papaji, the Sikh. Tears are in spate. It is tears of love, love for Mother and Mother Land.

Where are you Parijats? Smile. I love that smile.

PARIJAT-10

There was something awfully wrong. The well foundation for bridge pier is sinking. John could feel the vibration on the surrounding earth. It was a concrete structure just like an open well with thick wall in form of a ring. On the surface it looks like two concentric circles, the space between outer ring and inner ring is filled with concrete to make a thick annular concrete wall. It sits like a thick bangle on the surface. Concretes walls in ring form is built up as the bangle sinks slowly under its own weight inside the ground when the earth from inner ring is taken away by a mechanical earth cutter-cum-grabber. Removal of earth from inner ring reduces the frictional force, thereby helping annular concrete wall to push inside the ground by its own weight. It is the process of well sinking. But the concrete giant never sinks uniformly. It all depends on the resistance of the soil below the tip.

Inevitable has happened. The giant concrete monolith has avoided the resistance. It must be relatively soft soil on one side which has made the monolith to gush in hissing sound and vibration. Now it stands tilted as if bowing the head out of shame.

It is path of least resistance. It is less painful. But it makes you ashamed in the end because you never learn anything significant in life. You cease to be human being if you never accept challenges. Difficulty in life is not going to last for ever. It makes the achievement pleasurable, more pleasurable. You need to struggle. You need to sustain the pressure and overcome that resistance. That makes you sharper and wiser in the end. It is the pressure which converts coal to diamond. Smooth sea never makes a good sailor. It is the turbulence in the sea that teaches. It has a thrill. It has a charm. Without that thrill life is dull and monotonous. It is the life of four-legged involved in routine. Who wants that? Experience in overcoming the odds is the best teacher, never mind if it is an expensive teacher.

John is standing near the concrete monolith. It has tilted. It has tilted a quite a bit. It needs urgent attention. It has to be set right before it tilts further. Intuition tells loading it eccentrically is not going to help; nor the loosening of the soil in the side of the tilt by water jet. The tilting is huge. It requires a diver who will go inside the water and cut the earth on the tip of concrete giant.

John was totally bemused. Divers are rare in construction site now days. They come from a particular part of the country. Professional divers with their under water gadgets and dress are slowly replacing the traditional divers. But professionals are at premium, they do not come to remote construction site. They do not follow the traditional method of oiling the body for hours before entering into water with weight hung around the waist to counter the buoyancy. The metallic cap in the head is connected to a compressor to supply air for breathing while they are under the water. The pressurized air from the compressor drives away the water and creates a big air bubble around diver’s head. The modern divers with their sophisticated under water jacket do not require so much elaborations of the traditional diver.

Time is running out first for John. The giant is going to tilt further if something is not done immediately. The only traditional diver of the construction site, Muthu, is running high fever. The fever has lasted for last two days; still it does not show the sign of coming down. Hilly terrain. It could be mosquitoes born. John is really worried. Who will go inside the water of giant well? He must be experienced. He must have the sense of timing. He should possess that extra in-built sensory to throw that extra weight around the waist and move up as the well tries to correct itself otherwise he will be trapped in the loose and bouncy sands.

John started to move in short and quick steps. His to and fro movement speaks about his mental perturbation. He had a squint glance to the tilted giant. It is standing head bent, challenging John, testing his patience. John started breathing heavily. It is sign of restlessness. He ought to act. He can not allow the situation to drift. His fists are clinched. Teeth are rigidly joined and grinding each other.

He needs to consult Muthu. May be the septuagenarian has something to contribute out of his experience. He dragged his feet towards the camp. From a distance he could see some movement near Muthu’s cottage. It became slowly apparent as he approached nearer. It is the traditional rope cot where Muthu lays chest upward. Two of the construction workers are massaging oil. Muthu’s body is totally soaked in fresh oil. This is a special massage before diving inside the water. John could sense the intention. Muthu’s eyes are blood tinted in high fever of the hills. But there is a purpose in his face. It is a challenge not new to Muthu. He has done it in the past. He will do it once again. It is the call of the duty. It is the call of the responsibility. It is the silent call of his leader. He needs to deliver. How can he ignore that call? It is the silent call to wake up and rise up. The old war horse `is rising, definitely rising.

John hurried back to the construction site. He did not say anything to Muthu. He knows very well the septuagenarian is not going to listen to him. It is very difficult to control him. But he needs to prevent Muthu going inside the water. He has to make a balance, a realistic balance. It is concern for work while keeping intact the concern for people. That is what leadership warrants. The optimization is possible, definitely possible. Look into the issue. Have a close glance, half of the battle is own. Leadership is all about leading from anywhere and setting example. The call of the moment is to lead from the front. A leader should inspire. He needs to be a mixture of courage, charisma, knowledge and concerns.

John soaked himself in oil with quick hands. The metallic cap connected to compressor is already in his head. He needs to go inside the water before Muthu’s arrival. It is silence, a deafening silence all-round. Lips do not move but eyes tell the story. It is the song of silence. It has a pulse. It has a beat. It has a rhythm. It has a lyric. Listen to it if you wish to listen. It is within you. It is inside you. It is embedded in you. It is song of sense of duty and responsibility as charming and as exciting as red tubes of Parijats.

PARIJAT-9

The nimbleness of his fingers over the computer keyboard tells the story of an unfathomable piano player. The speed was breath taking and presentation on the screen was crisp. In one breadth it tells you all accounting information of the construction site, the daily out put, work in progress vis-à-vis planned, material at stock, future requirements etc: an excellent piece of self developed, tailor made management information system. John had never thought of somebody presenting with such intensity for a post of an accountant at a construction site. He was just dumbfounded and was at the edge of his chair, his vision riveted to computer screen and attention glued to the analysis. His senior colleague from head office bears no expression on his face. He does not appear to be that excited. An aged body with aged mind loves his cigar and has gone out once in between presentation to emit that black smoke like an aged and outdated train engine.

The make-shift interview room at the construction site was clumsily humid due to slight drizzle and overcast sky. The light outside was dim in cloudy sky. The old model florescent light inside the room was just adequate. The table fan struggles to push the air and gnaws at its failure. There are drops of perspiration on presenter face. He looks tensed. The muscles on his face are in movements, lips dances in expression and eyes flicker brighten ups as the desired and the expected flashes on the computer screen but in the ends it is all the expression of a plaintiff note, cloudy and smoky, the scene of water vapours engulfing that tiny fire of aspiration. With all coordinated efforts of tiny muscles the vocal chord does not emit that sweetness; it is all grunts, grunts of failure, grunts of desperation and grunts of that armless lonely warrior. With all that he smiles with satisfaction in the end as he bows his head while computer screen flashes the message:-

WELCOME TO THE WORLD OF RAJA

PHYSICALLY DEFFICIENT, DUMB

BUT

MENTALLY AGILE, BRIGHT.

The so called mental agility of Raja had no effect in the mind of John senior colleague. His expressionless face conveys the assumed and preconceived reality. The boy is dumb. He does not fit into the scheme. The rule book does not permit too. There is no room for sympathy here. John knew that his colleague will not make any deviation from the practice. Still he stood up and extended a warm shake of hand to Raja. The boy had in fact done a commendable job. He was exceptional. He was out of ordinary. But it requires exceptional brain to understand that. We need to peep out of that cocoon to understand that. Rules are generalist in nature. It recognizes average and talks of average and meant for average. The exceptional conveys his own rule. It requires an exceptional brain, courage and convictions and willingness to recognize that.

Raja had left the construction site. He is bestowed with the brilliant acumen of understanding the situation and comprehending the situation very quickly. He had read that expressionless face. He had understood the message behind John warm hand shake. The vibration of shaky hand had conveyed him everything. He does not require that. He does not require sympathy on anybody look. He requires the reorganization. He wants to overcome that feeling of failure, that feeling of impotency. He wants to be one among the physically efficient person. He wants to overcome the deficiency of dumbness with his mental sharpness. But nobody sees that, nobody hears that. All that they hear the grunts, the grunts of a defeated person. Who cares for that feeling? Who cares for that mental agility and the talent of exception in the world of the averages?

Suddenly Raja felt the burden of the laptop on his shoulder. It is becoming heavy, increasingly heavy. But he is determined to carry on with the burden as he marches on. He races along alone in that marathon of life always competing with himself, redefining himself, rediscovering himself. It is journey of self-discovery towards self actualization.

AAHH, it is beautiful! Parijats, are you smiling!

PARIJAT-8

The morning was sheepishly lazy. John looked to the large sized mirror in his room. He looks haggard with the disturbed sleep. Water sags below the eyes are distinct. Look of tiredness was prevalent on his face. Beards have grown in his pock-marked face. The old marks of small pox have prevented those beards to grow uniformly. Surprisingly the skin inside those small pox marks look tender and young. Oily pores have opened up in the sagged chins. It is mixtures of white and black, all sprouting up on that unshaved face.

John splashed fresh cold water in his face. It was refreshing. He wanted to wear a smart look. Hairs in that semi bald head have grown wild. The receding and thin hairs have become fragile too. Disturbed sleep has made him to roll on his bed with frequent changes of side. That has given a further untamed look to his hairs.

It was Sunday morning. John put on a loose trouser and moved out. He wants to look younger with a smart navy cut to his hairs. It is a funny but interesting feeling. We sometimes want to fly back and go back down the memory lane. We want to have a flash back of everything. Every thing looks pleasing all of a sudden in the dark lane of memory. That child inside us crawls up mischievously. We forget we have grown old. We forget we have become more matured and responsible with the burden of reality.

Ahha! It is nostalgic! It is vibrating and pulsating memories of that game of hide and seek, that wild swim towards upstream of river and soon followed by floating on back, looking up to the sky and thinking of somebody with that bewitching and infectious smile while the gentle flow of river glides you to its destination and that blind folded game of touching and catching somebody when everybody moves around you. You move your hands in blind fold with hope of catching that smile. It comes to your fold knowingly, stays there knowingly little longer than required, falling knowingly over you as if everything has happened accidentally, by chance. As if that smile was not willing, only you have caught her in that blind folded game. It is feeling of getting everything while hand is empty. It is there still it is not there. So near yet so far.

Time passes by. We fail to realize that still we play the blind fold game of childhood. Till today we move with that feeling of unknown, unseen, unrealized pleasure of achieving and failing, getting and losing. Eyes are open. We do not see anything. Like that blindfolded child we move our hands in nothingness and emptiness in hope of touching and catching the elusive. We fail to see in that dark corridor of the place of worship somebody lit lamps for us with lips full of prayers. Ahha!

John has reached the barber shop. The surrounding appeared to him quite different from an ordinary barber shop. It is a longish room with a huge backward. The back yard gives an impression of a play school. Tiny toddlers are on bicycles and tricycles. Some are simply running along with the tricycles. Slightly seniors are on see-saw and on glide too. Most of them have already had their haircuts but refuse to go home. John went inside the hair cutting room; the longish room is made up of mud walls with split bamboo inside it as reinforcement. The walls are elegantly thin, flexible and strong. Mud wall gives dual advantage of coolness in summer and warmness in winter. The room was equipped with ten revolving chairs to serve ten customers at a time. Ten small wall hanging mirrors with racks for keeping the haircutting tools. All the chairs are occupied. It is sound of busy scissors and never stopping mouth of barbers. They know everything -politics, sports, films, music everything. Every thing appears to be in their finger tips. Only you need to be good listener. Never mind, if you are not a good listener, they have an uncanny knack of drawing your attention to their talk. They know your pulse.

Behind this row of ten chairs hangs a screen separating people who are in wait for their turn to come. Long benches with reading desks are occupied by people in wait. John went inside occupied a seat in long bench. One old man appeared with some reading materials. Those reading materials are actually old paper cutting stitched together subject wise-sports, stories, events etc. John was surprised to find these innovations a small barber shop. He was further amused to know that all the ten barbers are the owner of that shop. Anybody is free to join there. The new entrant has to bring his own cutting equipments and revolving chair. The flexible mud wall with its roof shall get extended over night.

He thought of Raghu's words. It is battle of unequal. Big fish will eat away small fishes mercilessly. It will be the win for big and strong. He smiled on his own when he remembered that wise man saying “life's battles do not always go to stronger or faster one, sooner or later he/she wins who thinks he/she can”. Look for your strength, recognize that, explore that and exploit that, you are bound to be a winner. Can any mechanization replace that tender touch of human hand? Can any mechanization replace that bewitching and loving smile of friendliness? Can any mechanization replace that feeling of loving together, smiling together and crying together? Man has become robotic but that feeling has not died. It smiles, likes, loves, cries, gets angry, shows emotions and as long as you are serving those you are bound to be a winner.

John had his navy cut and special massage with mustard oil. The strong and pungent smell of mustard oil drives away all tiredness of the muscles. There is a spring in his feet as he walks. His mind and thinking have taken an upbeat trend. He remembers Marandi’s labour groups and joys of geese synergetic flying. Down in the lane of memory he recalls the flexibility of that DEODAR tree. It was a spectacular sight of adoptability and flexibility. He was astonished to see that DEODAR tree which grows tall with look of a closed umbrella has in fact bent in a right degree to have horizontal growth more than the vertical to avoid the shade of big tree growing over it. Once it avoids the shade of the big tree it again goes up vertically. To balance that extraordinary horizontal growth it shoots a branch down ward for support just like a banyan tree.

Small has its own significance. In that battle of that unequal it is bound survive with that winning smile of parijats. Develop the flexibility and look for your strength.