Underestimate – The Mountain Man

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The treacherous mountains pass
The nonavailability of resources
took away his lady who was in pain.

While others cursed and fell victim of
the difficult route, their fate, their luck,
the grievous yet determined man
put his shoulder to the wheel to save
lives of everyone, who had given up.

The mean laugh of the onlookers and the
voices of those who called him demented
strengthened his courage and purpose,
making him an undaunted and steely man.

The task wasn’t easy, the way either .
The man continued to crave the path
with his little hammer and huge resolve
not for a year or two, but the brave man
won over all failures for twenty two years
to chisel the route, to fight the mountain.

The villagers in astonishment, with a guilt
awarded the man for always persevering
despite of all discouragement from them
for never underestimating any failure
for never underestimating his hard work
for never underestimating the difficulties,
by recognizing him as the mountain man.

This is in response to Drashith’s free writing challenge. The word given was underestimate. You can read more about the challenger here.

Underestimate immediately reminded me of a very very powerful story of a very hardworking man, Dashrath Manjhi, who was a poor laborer in a village in Bihar. When I read his story, I was much inspired. Although I have tried to pen down his story and courage, I would want you to read his story here. He was also awarded and a film is also made about him.

– Kritika Vashist

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Will, You Be My Butterfly!

Will, you be my Butterfly!”

I don’t think there is any better way to start this than a pun, since this is dedicated to a person who is pun-ny, smart, sarcastic and extraordinarily incredible. No, I haven’t used too many adjectives considering beauty of his heart.

It’s been nearly three months, having heart-to-heart and funny conversations with him through comments on the posts. Never in my life had I thought that I’d feel connected to someone, here through a blog, sharing our daily musings. Perhaps, real connections, real blessings and real relationships happen without talking on phone for hours, or messaging daily. Sometimes reading someone’s scribbled words without even knowing how they look, how they speak, where they live, what they do, if they are poor or if they are rich, tells you more than you would have known about them. I bet that there are certain things that people here who follow us know better than people who are living with us. Funny, isn’t it?

Coming back to the man I was talking about, the one who has encouraged me unknowingly.
This man’s grammar is absolutely perfect. He doesn’t miss any punctuation!
He shares his favorite words, and then uses them more than twice in that post.
His comments would accidently rhyme, and he would say, “I could have been a poet, right? ;)” not realizing that many lines in his posts do rhyme and a paragraph sounds like a poem.

Let me ring up the curtain and reveal the name of this wonderful person.

William Leeone (Will), you have been a great comrade and a congenial company. You already know that I totally adore you. If WordPress is a garden and words are the flowers, then you are that butterfly who makes the sight of the flowers even more beautiful.

I had asked you about butterflies and you have said: “Butterflies are reminders that beauty and benevolence should both be said together!”
Now, do not wonder why I have called you a butterfly.

If a pun was a better way to start, then a poem for you would be perfect to summarize. Plus, conveying your feeling metaphorically is marvelous.

So, here it is.
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“It crawls, twisting its torsos
to creep on flowers, on leaves.
It wobbles, trying to bring
itself in control.
It moves slowly, unsteadily
not losing any hope.
They fix their gaze
and ponder how it moves
it continues to drag itself
with a body without a bone.
Sometimes it would slink
sometimes it would burrow.
With all its will and strength
it would climb
it would navigate through complex terrain
but never it would give up.
Passerby beholds his beauty
unaware of its hardships
how easily it encloses its pain.
It struggles and waits for the phase
when life would unfold its wings
and when it will take its first flight.
The sight becomes magical
when it spreads it artistic wings gracefully
when it looks up in the infinity of the sky
uprooting itself from melancholia
and flying in the buoyant air.

So, dear friend,
it behooves me to tell you that
you don’t have to be circumspect
if you have gone fishing in a wagon
and a butterfly lands on your hand
holding your favorite fishing rod
just whisper a wish to the butterfly
and it will fly up to heaven
and make it come true.”

I am certain that you read on the other end of the line.

Much love,
Kritika