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The virus is now within me
Embedded in the Tsunami of fear
That threatens to engulf me
Every time I step out
From the warm cocoon of my home
Into the contaminated world outside
That has become an alien island
Surrounded by the waters of isolation
Unrecognizable by the canopy of floating germs
Everywhere...in the air
That attack at will
Man. Woman. Child.
Precious life defiled.
No caste, no creed, no religion
Just a sea of faces ridden with fright
And a desperation to flee...

But where?
Nowhere to go, nowhere to hide
The deadly virus is inside of me
Following and stalking me
Silently seeping into the crevices of my mind
Covertly seeking repose in a helpless body
Shrouded by Corona consciousness.

I wear the mask of fear
Distance myself from those I hold dear
Build barriers, build walls
Shut the door when someone calls
But I need to touch and feel emotions
Not just 'zoom' in on virtual conversations
Every minute of every day
What is it I am washing away?
The germs... or the widespread threat?
Or just keeping anxiety at bay?
The sanitizer is within my reach
But all I hear is that screech
Of a dark, pervading global angst
That looms large over every land.

This heartless scourge is here to stay
A new normal emerges every day
The virus is now inside of me
This plague that devours me silently
Shackling my brain to insecurity
Holding my errant mind to ransom
Twisting my heart to a frustrated caginess.

Where do I flee?
I am bound now
Not by body but by mind
As I fail to contain the contentment
Of a soul I once thought free.

So now I ask you-
Do we wait endlessly
For the pandemic of fear to engulf us?
Trap us into an existence never seen before
Live life with trepidation knocking on our doors? Or do we step out of ourselves
And confront reality?
Strike the Corona curve and let it be.
Ignore the spike and let it go
If not from our lives
Then our mind's gossamer floor.
For the virus is now firmly within me
I must let it go before it enslaves me.


Not so long ago I picked up a book that has inspired millions all over the world - The Art of Living by Andre Maurius. As I delved deep into its profound wisdom I realized a sad and bitter truth. The art of living is slowly dying a natural death. What we look at today are the low dregs of life and at the risk of being a pessimist, I can't help but ask, 'Have we lost the magic?'

The challenge of existence lies in making the most of the precious gift of life. This is not easy for the art of living is probably the most difficult of all Arts! To merely 'exist' in a world of mundane and material order comes naturally to man. But to live in the true sense of the word and experience life's magical moments is a different matter altogether. How many of us can agree with J B Priestley when he writes, 'I have always been delighted at the prospect of a new day. This is a fresh try, one more start, with perhaps a bit of magic waiting. Somewhere behind the morning!' Alas! For the loss of such fine optimism! The magic today slowly disappears behind the fog of materialism, narcissism and a disgruntled despair at the degradation of life.

This is the fast hurtling era of mad consumerism, technology advancement and a vicious grab and grasp culture. Corruption, crime, violence, rape and murder are commonplace today. Terrorism is the scourge of the present... the undeclared Third War. There is mindless mayhem as a collective selfishness becomes a deep-rooted phenomenon. A surfeit of immoral values drowns us as commercial desires erode spiritual or altruistic ones. The love of Mammon has superseded the love of the Muses. We are surrounded by beautiful things but is life beautiful?

Man falls prey to the fast tides of life and becomes a helpless victim of Time's 'wing'd feet'. Hectic lifestyles leave little room for reflection upon one's actions. Is this frantic rush towards fame and materialistic success worth the over pumped adrenalin and unnecessary stress? The age of 'instant coffee' is now an age of instant everything- from WhatsApp messages to success and love as well! Magical formulas for health and fitness (and happy relationships) and the many shortcuts to life reflect a Machiavellian touch rather than Robert Frost's inspirational lines, 'The woods are lovely dark and deep/ But I have promises to keep/ And miles to go before I sleep'...

Life is certainly getting more hi tech, 'smart phonish', comfortable, high end and of course global. But is it getting any better? People sit in their luxurious, over gadgeted homes and indulge their lavish lifestyles. Not realizing that they are moving away from each other. Even the cell phone that should connect actually isolates as each member of the family enjoys his private chats. Facebook helps you find long lost friends while you forget the art of live conversation with the one sitting next to you, texting a third pal! (What ever has happened to endless chats over chai and pakoras in a friend's home?) Cyberspace connects and social networks spill over into hurt, misunderstood relationships. I personally feel that one instance of reading a friend's face like a book and asking a loved one 'what's up dude?' is worth a hundred good morning WhatsApp posts to strangers! Acts of kindness get rarer by the day ... .in the moments of jostling and pushing how many still give up a metro or a bus seat to an elder? Where is the celebrated courtesy of a Walter Raleigh gone? There is a vacuum of humane acts impossible to fill.

In an age when restless youngsters (and immature adults) tend to live as if adolescence was a last fling at life, it really is no surprise that romance too has changed its definition. As alcoholism, drugs, casual sex, fast dating, live in relationships and broken marriages become the norm, the atmosphere of pure love and age-old romance gets tainted. This is best exemplified in the story of an English gentleman who went to buy a book for his daughter. 'No sex in it, I hope?' he asked the saleswoman hesitantly. 'No, Sir!' she answered smiling. 'It's a love story!'

With the finer emotions abating, its no wonder the art of living has become a lost art! Childlike pleasures, innocent enjoyment and the gift of reveling in nature's bounty are soon losing its charm. Gazing at a blue sky, counting the stars or even visiting a garden nursery to pick up plants... all these are tame past times compared to current modes of entertainment for children. When enjoyment becomes an integral, prime part of a lifestyle, how can simple pleasures simply please? From where do the young derive their strength and form a reservoir of beauty trapped in the imagination, the 'inward eye'? Romantic poet Wordsworth's Prelude could provide an answer to this. A love for Nature, belief in God or even faith in one's work, passions or convictions could provide a rudder. But propelled by vested interests, in the pursuit of material or personal gain man is becoming increasingly less altruistic and more discontented. How can we then blame youngsters for succumbing to the vicious influence of today's spoilt environment? Are we not giving kids less of the green fields and more of technology in the fast lane? I remember this conversation in a park when an enthusiastic mom asked her son what a 'jacaranda' was. 'Jacaranda? Why... it's a fruit... no, a vegetable... wait! A ... a ... wild animal?! Oh yes... an exotic bird in South Africa!!' Ask him about the latest Apple gadget and pat comes the apt reply! The art of seeing beauty all around us is not a magic pill... .it has to be cultivated generation to generation.

Enthusiasm makes the world go round! How many of us living in daylight compartments realize that this present moment is an unrepeatable miracle? Never to come back again and therefore to be lived to its full! Business leader Ratan Tata advises, 'Don't just have career or academic goals. Set goals to give you a balanced, successful life. Balanced means ensuring your health, relationships and mental peace are all in good order.' Actor Robin Williams played the role of an ideal teacher in the critically acclaimed Dead Poets Society and gave his students the lesson of a lifetime in a simple slogan - 'Carpe Diem! Seize the day!' Encased here is the magic of life... the Greek writers imbued their comic characters with 'hubris', a quality of boundlessness that gave them the capacity to enjoy life to its fullest! A fantasy version is the inimitable James Bond who faces the stiffest challenges by the mere straightening of his tie! In contrast is the modern man's measurement of life by coffee cups and cigarette butts... and the latest cell phone, designer wardrobe or swanky car.

But like all clouds this scenario too has a silver lining. Hope lies in the fact that we are still vibrant human beings! With a mind that can think and a heart that registers the finer emotions. Rabindranath Tagore was a living example of what man can do with his brilliance and talent, riding abreast all Art forms and crafting a complete existence. Life's full moments are also found in joyful, unselfish living and reaching out. The powerful force of love enhances life and we sense that all the time despite the hype of Valentine's Day! The lover in Anna Karenina sees the world around him as bright and beautiful in a state of bliss. A kind soul bequeathed this anthem for marital happiness to his children, 'I have always tried to treat your mother in such a fashion that if I died it would take more than a hot water bottle to replace me!'

A zest for life, strong convictions, purposeful living, engaging in positive energy giving activities like music, writing, travelling, reading, yoga, meditation and serving a charitable cause are saving graces for those of us who have lost our fine tuning with life. Laughter is a good medicine and it's so true that a family that laughs and prays together usually stays together! Abraham Lincoln joked more than any US President and remarked, 'I laugh because I must not weep'. We ordinary mortals can apply this to our lives too and in the magic of laughter, dispel ill will and sad feelings. To live life with gay abandon is another art altogether and Mark Twain must have felt something akin to this when he wrote, 'Ecstasy is a thing that will not go into words. It feels like music'.

The line below which one more or less 'exists' and above which one 'lives' is a blurred one. Oscar Wilde who once surprised the Customs by stating vehemently, 'I have nothing to declare but my genius!' gave us more food for thought when he wrote that consistency is the last refuge of the unimaginative.

Most of us are grooved in a daily existence rarely pursuing that which keeps us alive- the Arts, a creative hobby, nature, love, compassion or a just cause... not many of us try to discover a path of perfect or even a more meaningful existence for ourselves. One of India's finest music critics Raghav Menon once said to me in an interview, 'Every single person should make an art of living which means- does he influence others by the life he lives? Does he create harmony or discord?' It's not everyone who closely examines what it means to live intensely and reach a higher plane of existence. As the emerging generation of today's chameleon and commercial world are we able to decipher this? More importantly where is the recipe for Utopia? It can only be in our minds and each of us must discover this magic for ourselves.

First published in a collection of stories, The Cameo Sheaves, by the same author.
Publisher: Ambience Publishing, New Delhi, India

The Homecoming

What reinforcement we may gain from hope,
If not, what resolution from despair.
- Milton


It was one of those rare summer evenings that generously lent a soft breeze to cool the nerves and check the oppressive heat. Nothing was depressingly still, yet there was a calm quiet that was soothing. Mother Nature was at her kindest best, delving deep into her generous bounty to placate sweaty brows and frayed nerves. And wipe off the brows of slumberous languor. In short, this was an atypical July evening with no heat.

Ved stood at the window, quiet as the falling dusk itself, an earnest expression on his aging but striking face. He had turned forty-five that day. Not that it mattered, for what was a birthday but just another milestone in man's humdrum life? At least, that's what Ved Mehta thought. Or rather, would have liked to believe.

Sober, unassuming and suave, Ved was content with reasonable wealth that had always been ubiquitous in his pampered life. He craved little for a slice of the material consumerism that had become an integral part of urban India in the nineties. Fortunately, his faithful and lovely wife shared his altruistic vision of a slow-paced, comfortable life. Happy with a beautiful house in the quiet town of Dehradun, an exceptionally well-planned front garden and a close circle of like-minded friends, Nina let life drift by, quite indifferent to its uneventfulness. But today, as she sat in the large living room, chatting quietly with their new neighbor, she glanced towards her husband with an uneasy expression on her face. She sensed a familiar restlessness in him and instinctively understood why...


She will be here soon, he thought, eyes fixed on the gravelled path lined with the season's late gerberas. They were changing colour now as the sun dipped lower into the horizon, gracefully and splendidly retiring for the night. Evening time was always beautiful in this Valley town at the foothills of the majestic Himalayas-slow-paced, sombre and soft. But strangely Nature's charisma failed to rejuvenate Ved as he stood still at the window. Insensitive to the natural panorama unfolding before him, Ved had eyes only for the front gate, knowing it would open soon...

He could feel a familiar excitement rise up within him, pervade his senses with fervent longing. He could barely contain the mounting happiness that was flooding his being, could barely stand still with the impatience of feeling so alive....He had waited so long for this special moment. Dreamt of it since months! The homecoming of his beloved daughter.

"Papa!" Her clear, sweet voice floated across the manicured stretch of lush green lawn. Untidy hair blowing in the balmy breeze, light-footed as a hare, she raced towards the house, uncaring for her disheveled appearance, or her bag flung carelessly near the front gate. She rushed into the drawing room with a characteristic clatter, bringing in with her all the excitement and natural liveliness of a seventeen-year old.

"Papa! Mummy! I'm home!" Anamika announced, breathless and flushed. She kissed her mother lovingly and then ran towards Ved, "Papa! Happy birthday, my dearest Papa!" She hugged him tight with the natural spontaneity of youth and produced a bouquet of red roses from behind her back-the stems broken, leaves crushed and soft petals torn asunder-but to Ved's partial eyes, simply perfect!

"Gosh! It's so good to be home! Did you miss me as much as I did?" Anamika demanded, prancing around the room in high excitement, peering out at the falling darkness. Soon, tired and restless, she almost tumbled onto the newly upholstered sofa, launching into an incessant chatter. Of course, she had plenty to say, coming home after almost eight months from her university hostel in Delhi. Her mother sat smiling, indulging in her child's vivacious chatter and admiring her husband's equanimity in the face of this verbal onslaught.

"It's such a lovely evening! Let's have the birthday dinner on the lawn, please Mummy!" Anamika pleaded, as she rushed upstairs to her room for a quick wash. By the time an elaborate dinner was laid out under the gently swaying jacaranda trees Anamika had met everybody in the house, including Frisky, the newest addition to the family kennel.

"He's so sweet!" she declared, hugging the little ball of Pomeranian fur. She had changed into her favourite pair of old jeans and a comfortable blue shirt. Plain, ordinary clothes that still made her look extraordinary...for they could not take away the brightness of her large, expressive eyes or the endearing sweetness of her youthful face. Nor the unsullied purity of her loving heart.

"Papa, that chair is not comfortable enough. Sit on this one," she insisted, willingly vacating the lounge chair for him. Her mother laughed, knowing this gesture was setting the note for the entire summer break. Adoring daughter would pamper her devoted father with unceasing attention and undisputed zest. Anamika served Ved his food now, just the way he liked it-a little of one dish, a dash of that. No heaped plateful for him. Tonight he could hardly eat, so full was he with the presence of his beloved daughter. His wife chided him gently for just pecking at the Kheer, the special milk and rice dessert that was an eternal favourite of the Mehta family.

"Papa! You're looking much too thin, you know!" Anamika pronounced suddenly, her beautiful eyes filled with anxious concern. "Hasn't he lost weight, Mummy?"

"I haven't lost even a kilo!" Ved protested indignantly, yet secretly revelling in the sweet ministrations of his only child. Of course, she was not satisfied till Babu, their old helper, brought out the ancient weighing machine and Ved reluctantly agreed to perch precariously on it.

"There!" Anamika shouted triumphantly. "Two whole kilos and you don't even know! I can never be wrong about you, dearest Papa." She got up suddenly to give him an affectionate hug. He hugged her back, bleary-eyed and smiling at his wife.

It was past midnight when they decided to go into the house. They rose slowly, reluctant to leave the sylvan darkness, the warm dregs of shared tea and their sweet intimacy behind...Theirs was a magical family bond that always came alive with Anamika's sweet presence. Her coming home was the highlight of the Mehtas' existence. She filled the house with so much laughter and bubbling spirits, it was impossible not to feel animated when she was around. She was life's greatest blessing to them and like always, Ved realised this more than ever on his birthday.

Like an angel treading softly on earthly ground, Anamika tiptoed into her parents' bedroom that night and customarily left their gifts quietly on the side-table. She did this always; had done so ever since she was a child and went away, even if for a day.

In keeping with the ritual, Ved pretended to be asleep, not wanting to spoil her childish pleasure at the planned surprise. She had a right on all their feelings, even one of pretended delight!

Anamika had barely left the room, having done her angel act when Ved switched on the lamp and quietly unwrapped his birthday gift, not wanting to disturb his sleeping wife. Elegantly framed in nonreflecting glass and beautifully painted was a striking imitation of Monet's celebrated work-the Water Lilies. His darling child had painted this herself, knowing this was his favourite piece of art; he could never afford the original or be satisfied with its reprint. The soft lamp-light fell on the pristine white flowers enhanced by the background of blue water and splendid verdure...Ved's aesthetic eye could see much beyond the bold strokes, and their amateurism and he realised at once how much toil and sweet labour had gone into creating this beautiful painting. Only for him.

Eyes moist, he turned the painting over, instinctively knowing she would explain her loving act. "Dear Papa, I took almost three months to complete this! Each stroke is a reflection not of art or beauty, but something beyond that-my unfailing regard for you." She had done it again. Performed her coup de love. Expressed her affection for him in a manner that could only be unique, for it came straight from her generous, unspoilt heart. He held the painting aloft, against the light, and it was as if the inanimate lilies came alive and spoke to him. Not of their own beauty or the supreme inspiration of their original artist, but the unmatchable quintessence of his beloved child.

Holding the painting lovingly in his hands, he went downstairs and made his way to his favourite nook in the living room. There, near the armchair, hung an English landscape on the wall-pretty but now worthless in comparison to what he was holding in his hands. "This is mere art, not life," he muttered, as he quickly removed the reprint of Turner to replace with his precious gift. Then, sighing deeply with contentment, he stood back to admire it. This priceless masterpiece from her loving hands...


He couldn't see it. Couldn't see the Water Lilies at all. Startled, he rubbed his eyes in disbelief and looked again. Moments passed, as he stood there, unmoving, just gazing helplessly at the blank wall. Its harsh emptiness mocked him; its silent, characterless whitewash shook him out of his stunned stupor. Slowly a look of sad understanding dawned on his wan face. The excited glow left his eyes and in its stead remained two dark pools of unfathomable pain.

From her sofa, Nina anxiously watched her husband and saw his sudden change of expression. Tears filled her eyes and she explained sadly to her companion, "It has always been this way with him. He's never stopped pining for the daughter we never had."

She excused herself and the guest left, knowing the couple needed their privacy. Nina walked up to her silent husband, gently took his limp hand in hers and whispered softly, "She'll never come, you know. There's to be no homecoming."

She was familiar with her husband's recurring birthday dream, understood it and even felt it. Long into the quiet evening, they stood together at the window, watching the sun go down on their hopes, knowing no light-hearted step would ever resound on their gravelled path. No sweet voice ever fill the emptiness of their large house or the silent corners of their sad hearts...like always, she was the first to move but not away. Self-consciously but fervently, she hugged him tight and for the first time said what she had always wanted, all those long, barren years, "Anamika can never be. But let's find a rainbow...just you and me."

Ved gave her a long, thoughtful look and then smilingly, pointed silently towards the cloudless sky. There, shining like a king among the eternal beacons of the night, was the full moon. Nina gazed at it and then at Ved in amazement. Never on all his previous birthdays had he looked at anything but his own heavy heart, always comforting himself in the solitude of their room and the darkness of his gloomy thoughts. Letting a total eclipse shroud the intimacy they otherwise shared...

But now, he led her gently towards his favourite corner, pointed to the blank wall and said, "I think I could paint the Water Lilies sometime...maybe tomorrow."

Nina heard the quiet resolve in his strong voice and for the first time in many years, felt a flicker of hope. His dream of a homecoming had finally ended.
Copyright © 2012-2021, Sanjula Sharma