Skip to main content

The Rock and the Tree

“Perseverance is not that steady rock that slowly loses itself in the torrent, but that wise tree that gently sways and gives way to the storm and exists as shade to passersby and home to that which fly.”
A stranger arrived at the party offered by the richest businessman in Chalode. The businessman was in his fifties. He owned a network of restaurants and hotels in the area. Once in a year he gave party to his friends. The stranger found the businessman talking among a group of people.

“I would like to have a chat with you.” The stranger said to the businessman. Both of them settled themselves in one of the corners of the huge hall. The stranger looked restless. Before the stranger could speak anything the businessman said:
“I sent you the invitation, because I wanted you to be here. I would like to tell you my story.”

He narrated the story of how he became rich. He had started his business more than twenty years back at Chalode, which was a very small town back then. He had a small teashop. Not many of the town’s people stopped by his shop. But a young writer was his regular visitor, who was his friend, too. The writer would tell him stories of hope and inspiration, which lured the businessman with dreams for a better future.

One day another person started a new teashop across his shop on the other side of the road. Day by day his financial condition dwindled.

The businessman felt himself close to failure. Then on an evening he asked the young writer: “would you please write my story, my friend? It will make me feel good about myself, make myself important and it will remind myself that I too exist. I wish the world to know about my hardships.”

“But I write stories of hope. The stories I write should end happily.” The writer had replied. And after that day he never visited the shop, implying that he had no hope on the poor teashop.

But as the town was small, there were not many customers for the new teashop either. Before long the owner of the new teashop, having lost all his hopes on the town, moved away to a distant place. But the businessman persisted.

As the years gone by an airport was commissioned in a place nearby Chalode. Prosperity fell in love with the small town. The town began to grow and its people affluent. The business man was one of them who earned a good fortune in the turn of things. The businessman opened many teashops and restaurants. And as the small town transformed into a city, his profit too began to increase.

The businessman finished his story. He could see the stranger’s face pale.

“This is my story of survival. I have a request too; I hope this time you will not deny me, my friend: Please write my story.” The businessman said.

The stranger stood up. His eyes were raining dews and his face was twilight. “I am sorry.” Was the only sentence he cold mutter before embracing his friend, the teashop owner, the businessman. The businessman too was dabbing his eyes. After all it was after long twenty years he was coming so close to his old friend, the young writer.

“It was you who made it all possible. It was you, and your stories of hope and inspiration that gave me the courage to dream.” The businessman whispered.

The Days that are No More--7

Dear reader, with this story the series named “The Days that are No More” is coming to a close. The series of individual stories connected with the common theme ‘writer’s block’ was primarily an experiment from my part as a writer, but it had another purpose too. It was an attempt to utilize the supreme power of art. The supreme power of art: the power to transform. My attempt in writing this series was to transform one of the most uncomfortable and confusing periods of an artist’s life—writer’s blocks/creative blocks—into works of art, into stories.

Hoping as always that you have enjoyed them all,


Anya said…
I enjoyed it very much :-)
My compliments for your good work !!
Neeha said…
Yep enjoyed your work.
It has been years since I visited your blog,nice template.
Take Care
onlookkers said…
Nice story!!
I hope another series may follow, which will be another wonderful experience for us,readers.
Terri said…
Sweet! On at least two levels. One... that the stories were creative and artful and did transform "the blocks" in to works of art to be enjoyed over and over again!
ANULAL said…
Four comments; and that too on a single day is something that hasn't happened since "Tears", the series of i-poems. That itself proves that what you great people said are all so very true. Your words are indeed transforming, my beloved readers.

mohdhafifi said…
Come Here From Malaysia

Popular posts from this blog


Ancient Promises is Jaishree Misra's debut book with a fresh narrative voice in comparison with the other novelists of her time.
An unforgettable story, told in first person narrative, Ancient Promises combines in its narrative strategy, romance, myth and social criticism. Jane Austen succeeded in bringing irony in her novels, through interesting and poignant observations, which were most often witty as well. Taking the same line of novel-writing strategy, Jaishree Misra gives opportunity for readers to enjoy the book in multiple perspectives than just a single faceted love story.
Of course, Janu, the protagonist is the narrator and this is her story. However, this is also the story of Kerala and its marriage customs. Many irrational and unjust customs still exist in this southern land situated in India's south. Many European cultures have established trade relations with Kerala, even before the time of the British. But in the long run, it can also be observed that the nature …

Spam Luck

Our client is looking for 100 English writers; we could pay up to $10,000/month with bonuses for writers who deliver good content on a regular basis. No experience required. Payment via Paypal, Check, or a Bank Wire.
Mithun Vadakkedathu signed out. But he did not forget to mark the mail he just read as spam. He had been signing up in job sites and this has become his day job.
The previous week he had gone to the Parassinikadavu temple and paid for Vellaattam, the worship dance for pleasing Muthappan, the deity of Parassinikkadavu temple, the ancient God of the commoner.
He groped in his wallet which had holes inside and threads were coming off from its bottom. The outer layer of rexine was removed from many places by time.
Mithun took out three pieces of paper, three tickets: one red, one grey, one pale white in colour. He murmured; “O God, all my prayers, all the Vellaattam I paid for are gone without purpose. I must have done something terrible that I still do not know myself. Perhap…

DELHI IS NOT FAR BY RUSKIN BOND: A Love Story without Losses

“…and I know that this one lifetime, however long, cannot satisfy my heart” (111).
__ Ruskin Bond
The Commentator says; When it’s about love, some believe it’s natural to make mistakes. The truth is ‘mistakes’ and ‘love’ do not coexist. Mistakes are not love. Love is not a mistake. Before the book review, let me recount to you a love story flew by my life a couple of months back. As some of you know, I love blogging. As some others of you are well aware, more than blogging, I love the experience of writing. Blog or my other publishing ventures, this love for writing is at the core of it all. A couple of months before, I had thought of writing a review of the book Delhi is Not Far by Ruskin Bond, author of The Lamp is Lit. Opening a word document, I wrote the title of the book with the author’s name as a ‘clever’ appendage. Then I kept it to gather some inspiration and relevance. Then I forgot. To be more precise, I pushed the priority to love to another rather unimportant spot and, for…