When the dark aura of a cold and misty night gasped its last breath before surrendering to the faint illuminations of the awakening sun, a tall and dark figure walked through the nodding wheat fields to reach a solitary palm gently swaying in the chilly breeze of an early winter morn. Barring only a white loin cloth and a traditional thin cotton towel wrapped around his head, he wore nothing else to fend against the elements. His lithe and leathery body did not seem to mind. After offering a silent prayer to the Monkey God, he ascended the living monolith.
Using two harnesses of jute ropes, one around his waist and the other around his ankles, he slithered upwards like a squirrel on a sprinting spree. Reaching the canopy, he leaned backwards, locking himself in mid-air. Then he unfastened five round earthen pots from around his waist and tied them on the tree trunk. Taking out a thin and worn iron sickle, tucked behind his back, he made precise cuts on the flowers of the old palm just above the pots. After a few seconds, glistening golden nectar trickled out of the gashes into the chubby earthen cauldrons. Chabila Rai climbed down and laid a grass mat below the swaying tree to set up his open-air palm wine outlet for the village day drinkers while his pots slowly filled away in the oscillating canopy high above.
With the ban on alcohol in the state of Bihar in India in April 2016, there was a glimmer of hope that the majority of poor men who squandered away their daily wages on getting high and abusing the women and children at their homes, would rectify their lives to a great extent. Many believed that more than social reform, it was a political manoeuvre by the Government to secure the votes of the womenfolk. While legal businesses of manufacturing, selling and serving alcohol vanished, many illegal enterprises sprung up to cater to the drunkards of the state. Those with money and guts could seek out these nefarious sources to get high but the poorest of village folks with lesser means and gusto relied on palm tree tappers like Chabila for their daily quota of organic high.
“Is the spirit ready my man,” enquired his first customer for the day. The chubby little man came and sat in front of Chabila just after a few hours since the tapper had hung his first batch of pots on the palm canopy above his head. “Half an hour more of fermentation in the sun, and it will be ready Baru’bhai,” replied Chabila and continued tidying the place. Soon a considerable conglomeration of ten drunkards huddled around Chabila at the base of the solitary palm tree in the middle of the nodding wheat fields waiting to get high.
Palm wine or Toddy was a poor man’s drink, popular in various parts of Africa, the Caribbean, South America, and South Asia, where it was known by names such as lagmi, sodavi, mimbo, tuaka, tope, toutou, doka, tuba, arak, ballo, bandji, mnazi, karewe, lagbi, nira, dhoaraa, omulunga, demangi, emu, oguro, tombo, segero, kalou, poyo, ubusulu, ra, kallu, pombe, kache, lagmi, kaleve and others. In Bangladesh, Nepal, and the six Indian states of Assam, Bengal, Bihar, Maharashtra, Odisha, and Uttar Pradesh in India it was known as Tari or Tadi.
“There you go Baru’bhai, my first pot of the day reserved for my best customer,” said Chabila and passed a warm pot of Tadi to the plump man, who had been nodding impatiently for the past few hours, waiting for the palm juice to ferment into alcohol under the mellow winter sun. “Gulp, gulp, gulp, ahh… nothing like a refreshing pot of Tadi to begin the day with,” satisfactorily grinned the pot-bellied drunkard bringing down the oversized earthen chalice from his dripping chin, very similar to the attics of an infant sucking from his mama’s tits.
“You tap the best Tadi Chabila bhai, hic, hic… I pray to Lord Hanuman to continue blessing you with your climbing skills, hic, hic…,” stuttered Ramdeo, another of his regulars. “Stop with this nonsensical blabber Ramdeo. Do you wish to curse me with climbing palm trees for the rest of my life? Is this a life worth living, climbing the tall palms every day to help good-for-nothing drunkards like you get high,” angrily shouted Chabila? Some of the drunkards agreed while few others promoted the benefits of palm tree climbing, to keep Chabila motivated to provide them with their daily quota of natural hootch. Soon the drunkards fell into a great debate and kept on talking nonsense, while Chabila sulked in a corner, unable to even dream of an alternate way of life.
As the dawning sun arched from the wooded horizon to the top of the swinging palm, around fifteen pots of watered-down and a secret powder mixed Tadi were benevolently consumed by the group of poor drunkards. By twelve o’clock in the afternoon, after three trips to the canopy, while all of Chabila’s pots lay dry, most of the talkative drunkards lay snoring here and there scattered around the golden wheat field, unconsciously waiting for their howling wives and pestering children to come and resuscitate them back to the morbid realities of their mundane rural lives.
That day in the night, back in his rickety bamboo and palm leaf shanty, Chabila cursed his wife Luxmi for serving only smoky white rice and a blob of salt. Two of his twin daughters, Chumki and Chutki, consumed the meal without making a sound, lest their father’s anger found its way to them. After everyone ate, Luxmi had what was left over. Clearly, palm tapping was not that lucrative, and the poor family faced the financial crunch that came with it.
“You know Luxmi when I was a child, I thought that climbing was my greatest gift. I felt that Lord Hanuman had blessed me with this unique talent. It made me feel like a superhero. Now, after all these years, I have come to realise that it’s not a boon but a curse,” sighed Chabila lying on the palm grass mat on the cold earthen floor of their mud abode. “Don’t fret so much dear. At least it helps to provide food,” consoled Luxmi as she caressed her poor husband’s thinning forehead with her toiled and bony fingers.
“The girls have to be taken out of school. Though their education is free, thanks to the Government, it does not put food on the plate. It would be better if they worked as farm labourers. At least they could earn something, and we could perhaps save a little to get them married off in a few years. Tomorrow I will go to the school and cancel their enrolment,” regretfully blabbered Chabila in the darkness, pushing away his wife’s caressing hands.
“There’s a function at the school tomorrow. They are installing a statue of Lord Hanuman. The girls are all excited about it. Please do not break their heart. At least let them attend the function,” pleaded Luxmi to her husband and surrendered to the silence of the night.
That night in his dreams, Chabila saw Lord Hanuman leap over the flames on the rooftops of burning Lanka. The vision felt so real and the heat of the flames so intense that Chabila startled and woke up from his sleep drenched in perspiration. Unable to decipher what the vision meant he could not sleep anymore, tossing and turning, mumbling, and complaining to the divine simian for disrupting his slumber.
Early in the morning the next day when Chabila stepped out of his hut, he felt very uneasy, something was just not right. He thought, “it must be one of those cursed days when everything would go wrong.” As the day progressed Chabila catered to the drunkards of the golden wheat fields and by noon all the din and excitement of the morn fell silent as the dipsomaniacs lay snoring on their hungry bellies and hardened backs.
Then at a distance, something caught the tapper’s eyes. A column of grey smoke gradually swelling into an alarming black cloud in the far sky. Kicking Baru, Ramdeo and a few of his slumbering customers back to consciousness, Chabila and his patrons dashed towards the black and orange fiery mushroom spreading against the backdrop of the turquoise winter sky.
Within minutes they were in front of the three-storey village school, which was recently refurbished from the old and donated mansion of a rich landlord, who had willed the property to be converted into a school and died. A score of people stood speechless in front of the building as the first-floor sputtered raging flames fuelled by a burning inferno from inside. Apparently, an inexperienced helper, while trying to light a gas stove had done something wrong and the downstairs kitchen where a feast was being prepared for the installation ceremony of Lord Hanuman’s statue caught fire. Finally, someone took the initiative and the crowd breaking away from their freeze of horror dashed to pass pots, pans and buckets of water to subdue the raging wood and concrete pier.
“Few children are still trapped on the terrace,” came a shrieking cry from amidst the panicked crowd and everyone looked towards the sky. There on the north parapet, they saw five children huddled and screaming clinging on to dear life.
Without giving a second thought, Chabila dashed towards the tall palm that swayed on the north face of the charring edifice, a few feet away from the flames that were spreading fast in an insatiable quest to devour anything that lay on its path.
It was as if the Monkey God had possessed the climber himself. Everyone saw Chabila sprint across the greens on his four and zip up the wobbling palm. Within minutes he was on the tree canopy, a few feet from the parapet. That day everyone witnessed the humble palm tapper of an unknown Indian village transform into Lord hanuman himself as he took an unbelievable leap of faith from the nodding palm across a wall of flame, with a line of jute tied around his waist anchored to the swaying tree of the Arecaceae family, to land on the parapet where five little children loudly prayed to the diving Maruti to save their lives.
With the Wind God, Pavan or Marut, father of Lord Hanuman on his side the flames somehow swirled sideways and downwards instead of reaching up to devour Chabila’s line across the palm tree and the school parapet. Chabila saw both of his daughters amongst the five. Deciding to take them last given their history of tolerance and obedience, one by one Chabila took the other three children across the ropes, lowering them back to the safe embrace of the villagers on the ground.
At last, Chabila tied both of his daughters clinging to his torso. He had to take them across in one shot as the raging flames below were just minutes from devouring his jute lifeline. Halfway across the line, the flame did its thing, and the rope broke burning away and detaching from the parapet. The father and his two daughters clumped as one fell from the canopy cutting through the flames and dangled halfway from the sky. The rope held itself anchored to the treetop. Somehow, as if through some divine intervention the flames parted just right with a gust of wind creating a straight pathway downwards, and Chabila descended the tree with his daughters just moments before the gash in the fire closed and engulfed the palm.
Everyone dashed and lifted Chabila high above the ground. The tapper floated on scores of human hands. The crowd cheered and bellowed praises to the Wind and the Monkey Gods. The climber radiated in his moment of heroic triumph. After hours of burning, an old and ramshackle fire engine finally arrived to douse whatever remained of the giant wood and concrete pier.
For the next few days, there was much talk about Chabila’s heroism. About him being possessed by Lord Hanuman and blessed by the wind God himself. Some Government minister even came to the village and garlanded him on a podium. The fire department gave him an honorary certificate for performing a selfless act in face of great danger. Influential people used his momentary glory to get personal mileage.
As the days turned to weeks and the weeks to months soon a year was over. Gradually everyone nearly forgot about Chabila’s heroism, seldom did anyone speak about the incident. Though the school was rebuilt, Chabila had taken his daughters out. They now laboured on the same wheat fields, where their father tapped on the occasional palm here and there catering to the village drunkards. Though not much had changed, and poverty secured a tighter grip, the climber was happy and convinced that his climbing skill was a divine gift and not a cursed bane.
Copyright © 2022 TRISHIKH DASGUPTA
This work of fiction, written by Trishikh Dasgupta is the author’s sole intellectual property. Some characters, incidents, places, and facts may be real while some fictitious. All rights are reserved. No part of this story may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including printing, photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, send an email to the author at trishikh@gmail.com or get in touch with Trishikh on the CONTACT page of this website.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Trishikh Dasgupta
Adventurer, philosopher, writer, painter, photographer, craftsman, innovator, or just a momentary speck in the universe flickering to leave behind a footprint on the sands of time... READ MORE
Weekend Stories by Trishikh 
Only you can craft a story that captures my attention FROM the beginning. Can’t wait to read this.
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Glad that you think that way Magus. Always a treat to hear from you.
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Always a treat to read your posts my friend. Keeps my story addicted mind always fed haha
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I am so happy to be able to provide a little sustenance to your voracious appetite for stories. Have a great day my friend.
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You too my friend 👊
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I always feel I am watching a movie with your stories. Thanks for the slice of life. Glad to see a tale from you, it made my evening.
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Dear Rebecca, always a great joy to be able to share a story with the world, and appreciation from friends like you makes writing it so worthwhile. I am so glad that my story elated your evening.
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Reblogged this on Ned Hamson's Second Line View of the News.
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Dear Ned, thank you so much for liking and reposting my story in your blog. Always treasure your support.
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Caro Trishikh anche un poveraccio il cui lavoro non è tanto onorabile può essere importante tanto da salvare la vita di cinque bambini, tra loro le sue due figlie , grazie al suo talento .
Chabila , dopo aver compiuto quell’ impresa ha continuato a scalare le palme , del resto non aveva non aveva scelte, senza sentirsi più colpevole ,perché trovava nel suo lavoro , un progetto divino . In
una realtà così difficile è andata bene così . Ti ho letto con piacere . Un caro saluto .
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Dear Sossu, I must thank you for this beautiful review of my story. Your comment does give me great joy. You are right about “a poor man’s not seeming honourable to others, but how it can make a difference.” My whole story is revolving around this concept of accepting every job as honourable, as long as it culminates in the good of others.
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To get to know a culture, you have to know its folklore and this kind of work gives us an idea of how complex life is in India. A story that puts us in front of how society works among the very marked social classes. Your prose, with shades of poetry, make the story a magnificent literary piece. I enjoyed the read.
Manuel Angel (Chile South America)
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Dear Manuel, I can’t thank you enough for this thoughtful comment. Your analysis of my stories being windows of Indian culture is a massive compliment that I dearly treasure.
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The important thing is that in your writing the everyday emerges with fluidity, cleanliness and accuracy, which makes it an enjoyable read. Good day.
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That is such a great compliment. I really treasure it. A great day to you too.
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Hello Trishikh ji!
Good to read another wonderful and engaging story from you. Giving reference to the times, political developments and particular places is the most interesting way to tell a story, and you do this brilliantly. Appreciations!
Your picture reminded me of my childhood days, when we were curiously amazed to see these men climbing those palm trees. This needed lot of focus and precision.
Thank you for the wonderful read.
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Dear Chitrangada, thank you so much for reading, liking and commenting of this story of mine. I am so glad that you liked the little tale.
You are absolutely right, time, date and events are very critical for any story.
I am so glad that my story brought back some of your childhood memories.
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Amazing story! Thank’s for share Trishikh.
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Thank you so much Elvira for reading, liking, and commenting on the story. Always treasure your appreciation. It does give me great joy.
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Always a pleasure, Trishikh.
Thank’s. Have a lovely week!
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The pleasure is always and equally mine.
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Thank’s!
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🙏
Aum Shanti
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Thank you so much. May the peace of the divine be with you too.
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Oh, I just loved this story!!! I have been waiting for a new story to come out. This did not disappoint. It was so interesting and so well written. Excuse me for asking, but do you have any books out? I would love to buy one. I looked without luck on Amazon. Anyhow, thanks for taking my attention and entertaining me as I read tonight. I was entranced from the beginning. You have great talent!1🙏🏽
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Dear and good old friend, you do not know that amount of joy that your comment brought me this morning. Your continuous admiration for my stories is a prised treasure for me.
To answer your question, I have not yet published any book. This was my 66th short story. All of them are free and available for anyone to read in my blog. Hopefully one day I will bring out a printed book. That is a big dream, but have not seriously explored publishing options.
Have a great day.
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Very nice story sir..
I have tested tari..😊😊
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Thank you so much Verma’ji. Yes! Even I have had my fair share of both Palm juice and Tadi. Always treasure your likes and appreciation.
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Thank you Sir 😊😊
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You are most welcome Varma’ji.
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The pleasure was mine from start to finish. 66 stories could make more than one book. I will explore your blog further. P.S. I see you follow and like lots of the blogs I follow. Funny. 🙏🏽
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Yes you are right. This much stories can be 2 or even 3 books, but I want to write more before I publish.
Us following the same blogs is coincidence or perhaps an indication of “like minds thinking alike.”
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Great story !
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Thnk you so much. Appreciation always makes my day.
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Again you have captured the ordinary with eloquence and insightfulness; lives that for most of us are perceived as unremarkable or even irrelevant in the larger frame of the human condition. As your story shows everyone has a role to play, how can we judge what is high or low, or of lesser importance?
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As always, your comment brings me immense joy. I can’t thank you enough for your constant words of encouragement. You are right – everyone has a role to play, and no one can judge, wo or what is high or low important or negligible.
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Such a terrific story. Written so well. So unfortunate that the girls were taken out of school.
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Sad realities of life Shobana. I see girls being taken out of the school all the time in rural India, irrespective of Government education (whatever the quality may be) being free. Thank you so much for reading, liking, and so thoughtfully commenting on the story.
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You are welcome.
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Very lively story.
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Thank you so much Suni. Glad that you find the story full of life.
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after the introduction, I see that it promises to be an interesting story for the evening, greetings and I suggest you also think about lyrical poems, you describe beautifully and poetically quite ordinary things or nature.
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Dear Alic, such a treat to hear from you. Hope you had a good tour. Yes I love poetry. Every word, line and para that I write, I try to balance the sound and make it sound like poetry. I ultimately want my stories to sound as poetry.
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Thank you so much for promoting my story in your blog. Always appreciate this kind gesture.
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Güzel hikaye. Paylaşım için teşekkürler
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You are most welcome Alev. Thank you so much for liking.
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Another wonderful story.. all your characters are so real.. thank you.. ❤️
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You are most welcome. So glad that you liked this little tale of mine. I am so happy that you like my sharacters. reading your comment always gives me great joy.
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As always, a gripping tale filled with heroism pulled from the workaday world. And always a glimpse for me into cultures so different from my own. A great adventure!
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Dear Patrick, your comment also, as always fills me with much joy. Thank you so much for liking the story. Yes, this story’s central theme is similar to few of my other stories. Am glad that my stories gives you a glimpse of a very different part of the world than yours.
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Another wonderful story Trishikh! Out of the poverty and desparation. ..a moment of Grace!
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You are very right Katelon. That’s a very beautiful way to sum up this story. Thank you so much for your Lovely comment. Always treasure your appreciation.
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You are such a beautiful writer!
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Dear Sheila, thank you for this beautiful compliment. It really makes my day.
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I am so glad!
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My pleasure.
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There are two sides to each talent.
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Very two, there are two sides to evrything.
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Prayer before climbing I sure can validate as I have seen that when I used to visit my Nani’s village in summer. Yes, I have tasted Tadi and it’s fresh in the morning. Women vote by making Bihar a dry state and also giving birth to the illegal liquor business. Girls education. You are a storyteller with facts and fiction.
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Thank you so much for your beautiful comment and sharing of related life experiences. I too love Tadi in the morning, had lots of it in our Village farm house in West Bengal in my late teen days. Have a great weekend dear friend.
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A very intriguing story, Trishikh, I was all the way curious to see where it was going. Chabila, who first seems to be so dissatisfied with his simple life and is taking it out on his family, shows a kind of true humanity and heroism when disaster strikes, where it is maybe unexpected in this degree. Those are the kinds of heros we need, who act without thinking about themselves. I really like that he learns to appreciate his gift and his life, even when his heroic deed gets forgotten with time. It is not important what others think about us and our life, it is important what we think about it.
Thank you again for a deep story written with your usual beautiful language skills, which add tremendously to the pleasure of reading.
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Dear Stella, I am left speechless at your intriguing reflection on my story. As always your comments give me great joy. You are very right, what we do when it matters is the true reflection of our grit, and though it may be momentary for everyone else, it certainly has the potential to change our perspective on our lives.
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Such a beautiful story!
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Thank you so much Rose. So happy that you liked this little tale of mine. Nothing gives me more joy than receiving a bit of appreciation for one of my stories right in the morning. This has made my day.
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Excellent as always
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Thank you so much Arpita. It’s always such a pleasure to receive your appreciation.
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BUONA GIORNATA
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Thank you sir.
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🙂
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I have watched many dangerous climbing documentaries about mountaineering. Why, I always asked. Why are they driving themselves to death? Achieving, seizing, possessing, defeating, conquering is a completely different feeling. His pride and magical side remain.
The descriptions, the integrity of the story and the narration are admirable.
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I too am greatly drawn to the mountains. My passion has been more on riding and driving on the world’s highest motorable roads. Have done a bit of climbing also, but very amateurish. There is something out of this world about the mountains.
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Reblogged this on Sharing Thoughts.
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Thank you so much for reblogging my story in your blog. I cannot thank you enough for this kind gesture. Now so many more people would be able to read this story of mine.
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I read your beautiful story, thanks to the re-blog by Indira. So many intricate details weaved into the story line, splendid storytelling. 🙂
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Thank you so much. Nothing makes my day better that someone new finding out one of my stories and enjoying it. I treasure your appreciation.
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You are welcome, enjoyed reading your story. Thanks for the follow. 🙂
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It’s my pleasure to follow your blog.
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It’s my pleasure, dear. There are so many likes for this story.
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Thank you so much. I am fortunate to have so many friends like my stories. Many of my stories have crossed 600 likes.
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Wow! Congrates. Wish you all the best for 2023.
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Very satisfying, Trishikh! I’m glad you allowed the three to live, albeit in suboptimal circumstances. Amid all the fine imagery, I especially enjoyed the passage in which you described the drunkards’ unconsciously awaiting their wives who would bring them back to their wretched existences, etc. (Your phraseology was much better.) So much was encapsulated in those few lines.
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Dear Annie, I am so glad that you were able to identify the little pearl of a power-packed line that I left in the story. Believe me, it is also my favourite line in the entire story. It is the central theme and message of neverending poverty and its effects on more than 80% of India’s population, that still live in the villages, far from the radiance of rays of the “India Shinning” global branding projected by the Government.
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Wonderful sharing.
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Thank you so much. Nothing makes my day better than a little bit of appreciation.
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It is my proud privilege and honour to appreciate a well researched writeup. Coming from you is really creates good feeling.
Thanks & regards
HARBANS
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You are most welcome.
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Thanks and regards.
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Trishikh, you are a fabulous writer. As Iv mentioned before, you weave history, information, culture, perception, humanism, and moral. It unfolds beautifully.
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Your comment always gives me great joy. Thank you so much for being so appreciative of my stories.
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I hope that in the coming Kolkata International Book fare I can collect your book
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That would be a real dream come true someday, not so soon though. I am on my 66th story, I plan to write 100 short stories before I publish.
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Bonsoir mon AMI
C’est peut-être le week-end qui approche , mais ce n’est pas une raison pour faire n’importe quoi
Non, en fait, c’est l’occasion parfaite pour faire n’importe quoi
Profite à fond de ces jours à venir
Un peu en avance mais vos mieux le faire que jamais
Au passage belles fetes de fin d’années
Joyeuse année 2023
Votre ami BERNARD bise amicale
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Seasons greetings to you too Bernard.
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Chabila and Luxmi lead difficult lives but Chabila vents when frustrated and Luxmi keeps her feelings bottled while doing her best to comfort her husband, she’s very strong.
I’m glad Chabila was able to use his climbing skills for a higher purpose.
I enjoyed reading your story.
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Thank you so much reading and liking my story. So glad that you liked the little tale. Your observations are right on – yes in rural setups women usually face more hardships.
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I feel bad for the daughters!
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Dear Dawn, that is the stark reality for many girls in the rural poor communities in India. Over here we can say that women suffer from “womb to tomb” – before their birth there are chances of them being aborted, and on death many are floated in a river somewhere, not even cremated or burried many a times.
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I feel very bad about it. Thank you, Trishikh, for writing about it!
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I am sorry to stir a bit of sad emotion with this story, however I am glad that it could touch your heart.
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What a story! And that simple belief of a rustic soul who was content with one heroic deed of his life! When will we all learn to be so satiated by such a thankless forgettable life saving act?
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I think many of us are never satisfied, we keep on desiring more and more, and that what makes us unhappy.
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True. True.
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What a story. A poor man’s aspiration to be heroic satiated by one .life saving deed! We should learn from his level of contentment.
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Yes you are right. There is a good lesson in this little story. Thank you so much for always being so appreciative of my stories.
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Sorry Chabila
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Yes.
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The December holidays in my country represent a time to reflect on those good deeds that one can bestow on others. Such a poor man hero as Chablis in this story are truly inspiring. One might never realize their special talents to do so as you allude to in this story.
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Very true Usfman. Poor man everyday superheroes are something that I really admire and write about often. I must thank you for always being so appreciative of my stories.
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i love your story! im so glad to see it! somehow i missed this one, & i began wondering if you were ok, so i came here to find out!🤗 kudos for a great story!❤️🙏🏼❤️
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Thank you so much. I am so glad that you came by and got to enjoy this story. Yes I am on a vacation. Hopefully will get back to my writing soon.
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Simply beautiful as usual👍
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Thank you so much Sutapa. I always look forward to your comments.
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CON IL FUSO ORARIO QUI MANCANO 14 ORE A MEZZANOTTE…………. BUON CAPODANNO
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A very happy and prosperous new year to you and your family too.
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Contraccambio di cuore, i graditissimi auguri.
Heartfelt reciprocation, the very welcome greetings.
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Thank you so much. Greetings and warm wishes to you too.
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GENTILISSIMO
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You are most welcome.
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Grazie
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BONNE JOURNÉE OU SOIRÉE
MON AMI
Bonjour ou bonsoir
Bonne journée ou soirée sous la douceur
Demain sera la nouvelle année 2023
Ce jour compte tes bonnes actions
Chaque matin remplis ton esprit de pensées positives
C’est un secret pour être heureux
Le proverbe
L’avenir appartient à ceux qui se lèvent tôt
Alors ne soit pas en retard pour les taches qui t’appartiennent
Je suis juste là pour te dire bonjour ou bonsoir avec mon amitié
Bonne heureuse Année 2023
https://i.postimg.cc/t4kmQD0h/R.jpg
Bise amicale BERNARD
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Thank you so much Bernard for your lovely wishes. A very happy and prosperous 2023 to you and your family too.
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Dhanyavaad for the story. yes, climbing is a gift. But then talents, any talent, are gifts aren’t they?
🙏🏻
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Oh certainly, any talent is a gift, any uniqueness is a gift, even our disabilities can be our gifts if we think about it with a positive and hopeful mind.
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Indeed.
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Thank You.
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And lest I forget: Happy New Year to you and yours…
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A very happy new year to you and your family too.
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🙏🏻
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🙏
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Je t’envoie cette petite poésie MON AMI
Pour te souhaiter une bonne journée ou soirée
Avec beaucoup de délicatesse et de tendresse
Que chacune des secondes de cette journée ou soirée
Soit un poème dont la poésie embellit toute chose
Que ce petit message , vous porte bonheur et vous ouvre les portes
D’une belle journée. Ensoleillée ou d’une belle soirée toute étoilée
Bisous Bernard
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Thanks Bernard. Always treasure your appreciation. Have a great day.
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Happy New Year Trishikh- I am waiting for a new story
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I am releasing a story tomorrow. Have not been able to write for a long time now. Hope to get back to the routine with many more beautiful stories in 2023.
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You write well. I look forward to them.
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Always a pleasure to share a good story.
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This is as beautiful as always. How you brilliantly weave your stories around events is very magnificent. 💪
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Thank you so much Emmanuel, you are gifted with the talent of “appreciation” and I really treasure it.
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What a leap into story-telling you take Trishik, and how you carry us along with you! What a gift, indeed!
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Always a pleasure Harshi. Appreciation such as yours makes them worth writing.
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