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Thakur Ramakrishna’s Tapestry of Disciples
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In a garden of souls, diverse and true,
Thakur Ramakrishna’s wisdom grew.
A tapestry woven with threads of grace,
Disciples gathered in his sacred embrace.
M’s devotion, like a silent stream,
Reflecting Thakur’s radiance, a luminous dream.
Gospel of Ramakrishna, his pen set free,
Sharing the saint’s words for all to see.
Sarada Devi, Holy Mother so kind,
Thakur’s spiritual consort, heart and mind.
Silent strength, her presence pure,
Guiding disciples to endure.
Vivid is the memory of Rakhal’s devotion,
Swami Brahmananda, in tranquil motion.
First among equals, a spiritual guide,
Thakur’s love forever by his side.
Virtuous Premananda, his heart a shrine,
Singing Thakur’s glories, the Divine.
Rishi-like, he taught in silent verse,
Ramakrishna’s essence, a universal curse.
Reminiscent of Thakur’s ecstasies rare,
Swami Vivekananda, his soul laid bare.
Igniting minds at the Parliament’s stage,
A new era dawning, wisdom’s age.
Yogin Ma, in solitude’s retreat,
Her meditation pure, her devotion complete.
Thakur’s teachings, her guiding light,
A beacon through day and night.
Abhedananda, explorer of the mind,
Seeking truths beyond confines.
Thakur’s conversations, a treasure trove,
In Vedanta’s ocean, he dove.
Niranjanananda, humility’s grace,
A life of service, a steady pace.
Thakur’s compassion, a flame inside,
In every action, he’d confide.
Sister Nivedita, a devotee so ardent,
Thakur’s ideals in her heart were sent.
Education, service, her life’s creed,
Following his call with fiery speed.
From East to West, disciples dispersed,
Thakur’s wisdom shared, revered, and nursed.
A lineage formed, a spiritual stream,
Whispering truths like a timeless dream.
In the realm of spirit, their souls entwined,
Guided by Thakur’s love, refined.
Interactions profound, a tapestry’s art,
A symphony played in each disciple’s heart.
A title bestowed, a legacy told,
“Whispers of Wisdom,” stories unfold.
Thakur Ramakrishna’s disciples’ grace,
In every moment, their spirits embrace.
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Chandrayaan-3’s Lunar Landing
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In the velvet tapestry of night’s expanse,
Chandrayaan-3 embarked on its cosmic dance.
A lunar voyage, a journey so bold,
To touch the moon’s surface, a story untold.
ISRO’s beacon, a radiant guide,
Chandrayaan-3 soared with Indian pride.
Through starlit pathways, it charted its way,
A mission to remember, come what may.
Yesterday’s dreams painted today’s sky,
As Chandrayaan-3 began its descent to fly.
Eyes fixed on screens, hearts aflutter,
A nation held its breath, a moment to utter.
The lander’s approach, precise and keen,
A ballet of science, a wondrous scene.
ISRO’s brilliance, a symphony played,
On the moon’s doorstep, it gently laid.
Lunar dust stirred in a delicate whirl,
As Chandrayaan-3 unveiled its lunar pearl.
A touchdown soft as a lover’s embrace,
A triumph of knowledge, humanity’s grace.
In craters and shadows, it found its place,
A sentinel of science in space’s embrace.
Chandrayaan-3’s beacon, a testament clear,
To India’s vision, its knowledge sincere.
Moon’s ancient secrets, now within reach,
Chandrayaan-3’s lesson, a wisdom to teach.
Exploring the cosmos, expanding our scope,
With curiosity’s fire, there’s no end to hope.
Oh, Chandrayaan-3, a celestial friend,
You’ve shown us how boundaries bend.
A chapter new in the cosmic tome,
A journey’s success, a long way from home.
The moon’s surface, a canvas pristine,
Chandrayaan-3’s footprints, a mark unseen.
ISRO’s legacy, a tale to be told,
A saga of courage, brilliance, and bold.
As stars twinkle brightly in cosmic ballet,
Chandrayaan-3’s triumph, a beacon’s display.
A reminder that dreams can truly ascend,
And with unwavering spirit, all limits transcend.
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A Tale of Determination
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Twelve years old, Pilu, they say,
Sells newspapers every day.
Evenings are spent in learning’s sway,
At a master’s house, he finds his way.
No money for school, it’s clear,
Government schools won’t draw him near.
Birth certificate, he does lack,
Odd jobs await, his future track.
For four months, work he does,
In exchange for tuition’s fuss.
No school exams to fret and stew,
No class advancement, he goes through.
Master Mashai teaches him well,
In that class, where knowledge dwells.
Pilu’s learning, just like the rest,
Grows over time, in pursuit of the best.
At home, his mother remains,
In several homes, work sustains.
To Pilu, she always imparts,
“Be a good person, fill your heart.”
“Truly, I’ll say, dear Pilu,”
“Good deeds you’ll indeed pursue.”
“In life, you must survive,”
“Work hard, that’s how to thrive.”
“God will provide,” she always claims,
“For effort’s worth, in life’s grand games.”
Pilu takes her words to heart,
In Vedas’ verses, he plays his part.
One day, a thought crosses his mind,
To supply milk, he is inclined.
Half-liter pouches he can sell,
A couple of rupees, the story will tell.
As he ponders, he starts to see,
All papers as customers might be.
How much milk do they acquire?
He delves into each inquiry’s mire.
Now begins milk and paper’s blend,
Together, he starts to send.
And now his work expands its scope,
Doubling his efforts, there’s no hope.
Another lad joins his path,
Together, they avoid any wraths.
With customers, they always stand,
A helping hand, in demand.
They grow this way, Pilu’s work,
Earnings saved, their pockets perk.
One day, to a broker he goes,
Seeking homes, he quietly knows.
A small house in his sights,
Fills Pilu with pure delight.
Twenty-five thousand, as advance,
This house, his life’s grand dance.
Then to the bank, he must make a trip,
Four thousand monthly, in an equable clip.
Five years to repay the loan they agree,
His own house, he’ll finally see.
Five years pass, and the house is his own,
Mother no longer needs to roam.
With her son, she resides in peace,
Work and home, a life’s caprice.
He takes the school’s final form,
In studies, he has weathered the storm.
Distributorship he takes on now,
Strengthens his business, his family’s vow.
Pilu becomes Pilu Babu,
His office now, his own home’s view.
Several years have gone by fast,
A solid house, he’s made it last.
Mother says, marriage he should pursue,
Know her well, before you do.
In a hurry, a bride arrives,
To Pilu’s new home, she now drives.
A motorbike he purchases new,
Supports his family and work, it’s true.
A good person now he’s become,
Like his mother’s words, like a drum.
Learning, now, he sets to the side,
Graduation, he’ll strive to abide
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Uttam Kumar A Lifes Unveiled Chapters
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Uttam Kumar’s many tales,
Known by only a few in trails.
Some words he shared with a co-actor,
Whose name remains unknown thereafter.
Acting’s first challenge, common for all,
A hand on the cheek, I recall.
Lost in thought, my hand spun ’round,
Thinking of this, my mind unwound.
A new actress spoke of it one day,
Uttam Kumar lifted her in a play.
Sometimes hair, sometimes the saree’s flow,
He managed all with an expert’s know.
Then came the last scene’s event,
Uttam Kumar, lips curved, descent.
Once the shot was captured, alas,
He repeated it several times, no less.
In some things, he wasn’t keen,
His mind found acting not so pristine.
Director’s words at the finale,
Hands clapped after, a joyful rally.
Thus ended his acting spree,
Life’s last scene, the final decree.
People’s hearts filled that day,
Perfectionist’s work, in disarray.
A kiss scene in a movie once lay,
With a co-actress, he’d portray,
In her distress, he’d lay a hand cold,
Saying, “We’ll manage,” bold and bold.
Then from behind, he’d turn his head,
The kiss scene, in camera’s stead.
Later edited with great care,
A perfect shot, beyond compare.
A fear of ghosts, it’s been said,
An incident around this thread.
Taking his family along, they say,
Uttam Kumar fled one day.
Planning to meet them there,
A house stood, their joys to share.
Later, he shared the sad truth,
A suicide had robbed them of youth.
Haunted by a spectral dread,
Leaving the house, he sped.
From behind, he saw with dread,
A snake-charmer’s image, a shiver’s thread.
Uttam Kumar, football and cricket in play,
Loved games, in leisure’s sway.
Apart from that, wrestling, fencing so dear,
He’d practice, his goals were clear.
He found time to learn,
Hindi and Urdu, within his turn.
Even in leisure, it’s true,
Music and singing he’d pursue.
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Ram Doctor: Village’s Healing Heart
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In a village tucked away, so serene,
Ram Babu’s clinic, a health-giving scene.
A lone doctor he stands, tall and grand,
A healing touch, a helping hand.
Six feet of stature, a robust grace,
A doctor’s heart in a caring embrace.
His voice resonates, strong and clear,
A beacon of hope, ever near.
City’s allure he chose to decline,
Returning to village, a mission divine.
For his people’s health, he truly cared,
With his healing touch, burdens shared.
MBBS in hand, he ventured back,
Leaving city’s glitz for the rural track.
The villagers’ ailments, he took as his own,
In their time of need, he’s steadily grown.
In the village, lives fragile like glass,
When illness strikes, time seems to pass.
With a heart so pure, he’s always there,
Easing their pain, showing he cares.
No journey too far, no call ignored,
On horseback, he comes, like a knight with sword.
Through muddy paths, he’d traverse with pride,
No obstacle would keep him aside.
Midnight’s dark veil, or morning’s light,
He stands by his oath, day and night.
With empathy wide and fees set aside,
For his patients’ well-being, he’s the guide.
Prescriptions he writes, with compassion’s pen,
Not just medicines, but hope he does send.
For a glass of milk, or a meal’s delight,
He ensures they don’t suffer in their fight.
A godsend to the needy, a hero of care,
Ram Doctor’s love, a burden they share.
In his healing haven, his hands extend,
A village’s savior, a true lifelong friend.
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Thakur Sri Ramkrishna Paramhansa Dev met Vidyasagar
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On Kolkata’s bustling road, one fine day,
Thakur Ramakrishna, a saint so wise,
Embarked on a journey, his heart’s desire,
To Vidyasagar’s abode, where kindness lies.
Bhabanath and Hazra by his side,
The Master ventured forth with grace,
Towards Badurbagan, the path they tread,
To meet the scholar in his dwelling place.
Born in Birsingha’s village, humble origin,
Vidyasagar, a name revered and renowned,
An ocean of kindness, people would proclaim,
A scholar’s brilliance, a wisdom unbound.
Thakur’s heart was filled with eager hope,
To gaze upon this ocean of virtue pure,
With Vidyasagar’s fame, his heart did swell,
An encounter of souls, an event so sure.
In Vidyasagar’s presence, their eyes did meet,
Thakur’s vision beheld an ocean’s expanse,
Words flowed like rivers, a divine dialogue,
A moment in time, a sacred dance.
Thakur spoke, “Before me, an ocean I see,”
Vidyasagar replied, a twinkle in his eye,
“Then take some salty water, O revered one,”
A playful banter, a connection awry.
Thakur’s voice rose like a gentle tide,
“An ocean of literacy, you truly are,”
With humility profound, Vidyasagar smiled,
Two great souls united, near and far.
In Kolkata’s tapestry, this moment woven,
Thakur Ramakrishna and Vidyasagar’s grace,
A meeting of hearts, a convergence divine,
In poetry’s embrace, their spirits embrace.
