Ashadh and Varsad: A window named Suresh in the eyes of Joshi ..

- Unveiled-Jay Vasavada

- What kind of loneliness do we become in the solitude created by the rain? Someone speaks while sitting next to you, but his words are obscured by the words of the incessant rain of the year.

- Rabindranath compared the sky after rain with a platinum ring. What is formless is the overwhelming challenge for the poet. What is the first shape when it takes shape? Straight lines or circles?

In the online class, the teacher asked the students to write an essay on rain. And Bachuda got up, sprinkled water on the webcam and blurred it!

Well, in one year, a hundred new details were added to our lives from quarantine to oxygen saturation. But our course is not new! The same old look. If we read the poisonous Kora fundamentalist gossip called Whatapia, we will go ahead in time that there will be nolanbrand confusion! If pebbles fly in the well of education, then where is the water of knowledge irrigated for the brain? What is the meaning of the essay or poem on Tuo? Feelings and observation are not to get marks, to cultivate two 'marks'! In which a person has to throw away the old printed gokhi - not so much, but write a new original thinking.

For that, we need to read a lot of references in the garment of sensitivity with the needle of curiosity and an artistic creativity that weaves a new and unique pattern of pottery with the colorful lines of Vihar. Admittedly, not all of them are natural. But if you are ready to understand what it is, can it all happen? The process is called education. Then be it science or arts.

Rain means very few excellent essays on rain or poems that we find wet across. There is a regular routine. It's not worth it. In India, it is an expensive guest in the hot season, so the smell of clay has merged in our blood. Challenging ourselves every monsoon and always coming to write something new, the fresh looking rain is the only source of inspiration.

But this time Suresh Joshi, who has just celebrated his centenary, celebrated the spectrometer in two parts. (Yes, even though Joshi is writing, it is very confusing. In Gujarati writing, new improvements have to be made by yourself. If not for the sake of simplicity, then like Sureshbhai's literature, the whole language will be packed in a chest aka chest or a box of grammars!) Sureshbhai expert in drawing imaginary-vision pictures that confront the Laureate poet.

So this time, just like in the rain, we have to make room for the downpour to flow, a new essay for the reception of this Ashadh, made by choosing from the different essays of Sureshbhai. Along with the bouquet of the acquisition, he has tried to put difficult Gujarati words in 'Easy English' brackets and in one or two places, words that seem racist nowadays have been dared to be carefully cooked. But reading can be difficult if you don't have a little habit, though. As the air outside the window becomes new after the rain, the new dimensions will get dimensions in spite of the old ones and you will know what the literary standard is if you want to do quality writing on rain! Leo, my blow:

Sitting on the second floor, I see small puddles filled with rain. The sound is audible here. If you touch it a little, it will fall like ashes on a cigarette. If you come here, I will not let you speak a single letter. I don't like your voice to sound like this. The light of the street lamp is awkward in a puddle. You know - the same, what happened to me when I released the light, imprisoned in your tear-stained eyes? I like to see the avenue of cypress trees expanding in your eyes.

As I was walking through that alley, the branch of Saruni was uttering a message for me. I try to absorb the echo of the void between the fragile wall of tears when you let everything flow with tears, but I understand that the tears you give can only be absorbed by tears, and when I left my village, I handed over to the abyss of my village. Grandpa said: 'Now you have grown up. Now fire adorns the eye, not tears. So hand over whatever tears are left to the abyss. ' So the tears you give cannot be absorbed by me, a little of it is absorbed in the wind, a little in the water.

There is a huge effort going on all around. The number of tubes on the roof of the front porch is an ant. The branches of a nearby tree are agitating and weaving the texture of the wind, here a few hens are weaving the morning rays of yesterday's stale sun. The town's highway is counting and classifying the walking steps. Sleeping or pretending to be asleep, the darling of the darling's eyelashes is considered to be the darling darling. Some fortune teller has said that the number of hairs is equal to the lifespan of a cohabitation.

Sony's shop in the city forms a golden flame of fire and Advaita of gold. The balloon shop wakes up with the ambition of fulfilling the balloon in a box. An initiative has been started to arrange corn kernels in the fields of Panchmahal. Here my city is covered with clouds like a black snake. The sight is deeply welcomed by the rivers. Mankodas have climbed out of their hands, wearing wings and flying out. The air is damp, it smells like henna, sometimes a wave of bitter aroma of ripe neem leaves. The raindrops from the cow's bamboo flutter like small blisters. Karen has celebrated the festival by waving a red flag. Because of the rain, our footsteps are stuck on the earth, which causes us to have the illusion of our immortality. But that illusion is quickly erased by the water itself.

The railway tracks have been submerged in the water, along with the speed of the wheel. The night of signals has been pale yellow-green eyes for hours. A few Kabros are sitting in front of the wire poles waiting for the Gujarat Express. It has rained so much in the pockets of beginners. A few rivers of geography are running in its hair. It's morning. That is why he has run away by narrowing down his sleep. Its invisible shadow accompanies its sleepy sniffing sniffing. Sometimes he stumbles upon his own dream and sees the success shining, then an adabid forest is seen stumbling and falling. Being soaked in a single stream of rain erases a little unfamiliarity from the faces of humans.

The moisture of the vision gives each face a distinctive mystery. The wind does not look like the pages of a book that has been crippled by moisture, but it is treated with touch. Let it dry a little in the sun. At night a few star sparks (pipes) appear. If you are sitting in the dark smoking a cigarette, you will see red bumps when you inhale a little. The rain has stopped. Thus, there is stillness, but a loud sound of the digestible moisture is heard in the earth. The rain has washed away all the stones. The sky has washed away our eyes. The very cleansed eye is slightly struck by the new clear transparency it has received.

The ephemeral point of water - what a solid philosophical thinker has deduced from this! Ninety drops from the roof, it's different when there is a stream. But after the rain stops, every now and then a few drops (I don't think the verb 'drip' had to be made from 'drops'!) If we look at the whole action meticulously in all its transformations? There is a hint of drops on the roof. The shape of the drops is bound. Then from the sphere to the ellipse, then the middle part swells. Then the action of dripping takes place but the droplets are not destroyed, its additional part is pulled up, and it swells (enlarges) from the middle as before and drips. So where is the beginning and where is the end in this action? All this intact! Even a drop that looks fragile does not become eternal?

The church bell rings in the rain. Moisture penetrates the cavities of all sounds. The letter in the alphabet swings in front of me. How much space for moisture in the lower pores above the horizontal line of 'D'. ' 'B' doesn't seem to be moving like a worm! The most polo letter is 'D' which looks like an ant tending in the water.

After the rain stopped, the birds began to fly to get the weight of their wet wings. The snake finds a moment to get out of its cage and take off its corset. The snail resumes its long halted journey. Neem branches are blackened by rain water. The mango leaves play with the water droplets like a little boy playing with a handkerchief. Clouds that have been left to dry wet pillows can be seen here.

The transparency of the mirror is obscured by a light coating. The shadows come out again in the warmth of the sun and find their own image. The geometry of the houses is rearranged. As soon as they see the sun, the leaves start laughing like an infant suddenly laughs without wiping away tears. Moments like a monkey that has been flattened by being pressed into the bed now become something alive and slowly begin to slide.

Parijat is accumulating its fragrance. Ketaki's hefty fine is getting higher and higher. Kadamba has blossomed. Tiny grasses are watching the sky. Then when he gets tired, he leans his head on the stone next to him. The flies have already come out with their heads on their shoulders in search of Divasa pudding. The grip between wind and dust is over. The darkness in the wells wakes up and hangs upside down from the tree. The turtles are gone by eroding the fence. The bodies of the lakes are beginning to grow.

The torrential downpour has pushed the bone out of the ground. What will be its history? What will be the living figure? What is it like, like the finger of death? The dog runs and presses it between the teeth. It is related only to the bone of that bone.

Rabindranath compared the sky after rain with a platinum ring. What is formless is the overwhelming challenge for the poet. What is the first shape when it takes shape? Straight lines or circles? Some believe that the circle. The shape of the earth is round, the shape of the planets is round, because even though the shape of the circle is limited, its beginning and end cannot be said. While the line must have a beginning and an end.

The footprints are all there. It is also on the dome of the temple and also in the puddle. The best rain showers are at midnight. This opens up a new texture of our sleep. Rain is only audible (sound enabled).

The elephant sways on the road. The sound of her bell fades into the rain. The wet wound of the wound is raging. The crocodile, which has come from somewhere, is harassed by the evil Kabro. The parrot tries to use the neem branch headrest. This rain turns everything upside down!

Looking out of the window: Outside, a stream of rain and wind-blown tension is being woven into the soft muslin, the lush green lining of grass sprouts is scattered everywhere. The branches and trunks of the trees have turned black after digesting the water. Drops of water hit the ball uniformly, jamming the grip on the power cord, one flicking and the other knocking the other down. Now meetings and speeches will be less, leaders will jump a little. Yes, Chaturmas can be spent abroad.

The rains in the press, including the image, increased. One of the literatures was even written by a colorful newspaper, 'Joban Hale climbed the best of the year.' Of course, looking at the accompanying image, it doesn't look like anything. Another image shows the homeless poor family being pushed out of a blown roof and another image shows the people of the city drowning in muddy sewage. What else can the life of the city realize about the crazy youth of the year?

On the first day of Kalidasa's Ashadha, in Vaprakrida (the action of a storm-tossed bull throwing its horns in a mound of dust and blowing dust) in a rain-soaked Sanuman mountain like a drunken yard - where did the creation go? Millions of Mumbai's population live under filthy sewers and rusty roofs near slaughterhouses. Mumbai's torrential rains with gusty winds - what protection can this population get against it? Where has all this fallen to our country, so if we forget the crazy job of the year and remind it, it is considered as emotional!

Drops have fallen on the window glass, it has become like a teary eye. The crazy rhythm of outside nature also changes the rhythm of our blood. The meeting of the branches that can meet each other takes place only in the storm. The constant tune of the constant flow of rain echoes evenly. The frogs speak in the same way as the Vedas who recite the tea, the sky is bathed in small puddles, its emaciated body is seen in it.

In such an enclosed sky, when the cloud layer thins, the moon appears from its mouth, as if a ring from Shakuntala's finger, like a piece of alum, does not attract our attention at all. But at night, the moon, which looks like a diced crystal of chloroform, adds numbness to the wetness of the rain. Who wakes up on such a night except Virhini?

Rain brings a variety of sounds, but also unique solitude. At the edge of the dim horizon, who does our vision run to find? Even those of us who are very close to each other know that a wall of tears is erected. Lightning flashes like the throbbing of a coward's heart, the wind swings from tree to tree, and the rhythm of nature's primordial melody resonates.

What kind of loneliness do we become in the solitude created by the rain? Someone speaks while sitting next to him, but his words are covered by the word of the incessant rain of the year. You do not have the permission required to post. This is the beginning of a long journey for you snails. Indragop adorns Aluna like a red kinkhab in the palm of Gauri's henna pattern. The population of insects is increasing. The wings have been shown solely to give a sense of proportion. The heron is extremely functional. This is the favorite season of the buffalo. The Mahabharata is being read in a room at noon. Vyas The voice of God merges into the stream of rain.

Did a drop of writing enter the vein like a vaccine or did everything fly away immediately like a sanitizer? Uploading photos in the rain is our pleasure but downloading such observations is a subdivision of Love for Literature! Which is steeper than having a face in a book than Facebook!

Xing Thing

Lil is playing on the water of Vav,

Believe me

If the laziness of thirst.

(Soumya Joshi)