Music by Shri Jaykishan Hariharbhai Kapdi

Music: “Aum”

by Shri Jaykishan Hariharbhai Kapdi

Music is singing in a general sense, but music consists of three things: singing, playing of musical instruments and dancing. Dance follows playing of musical instruments and playing of musical instruments follows singing. So, out of these three things, singing is the best.

There are five arts: 1) Music 2) Poetry 3) Drawing 4) Sculpture 5) Architecture. the origin of music and the original book of Indian Music.

Music is divine and music is related with a God and Goddesses.

Four of the arts are visual and people need to have an understanding of the vision of the artist. As such, it and may not be as appreciated as the art of music. Music entertains all people in general without a need for understanding.

In Indian music it is stated that Lord “Brahma” (Creator of the universe) gave a blessing of music to “Saraswati Devi” (Indian goddess of knowledge and music) and music flowed from “Saraswati Devi” to “Narad Muni” (a saint of god and goddesses) and flowed from “Narad Muni” to “Bharat”. “Bharat” created “Bharat Natya Shashtra” (Dance Theory). “Bharat’s Natya Shashtra” is

Music enhances the physical, mental, economical and spiritual aspects of mankind: Physical Aspects: A singer has to master breathing techniques. It is one type of “Pranayam”. Singing and playing some instruments strengthens the lungs. Dance itself is a great way to exercise the body.

Mental Aspects: Singing and listening removes our sorrows, sadness and misery, and our mind is refreshed and joyful. Good and divine music not only affects mankind, but also animals and birds – we see snakes dancing to the voice of a Bin / Flute, and cows gives more milk while listening to music.

Economical Aspects: Music is also an education. It can be a profession, so raises our economic status. Spiritual Aspects: Through adorable songs (praise of Gods and Goddesses) mankind gets an emancipation through music.

The author grew up in a family of musicians, to whom music is a blessing of God. The skills of making music are hereditary to him, learning from his grandfather Shri Mohanlal Ramdasji Kapdi and father Shri Hariharbhai – both accomplished musicians. His grandfather established a non professional music class, “Shree Saurashtra Sangeet Vidyalay,” in 1935 in the Bhavnagar city-364001, Gujarat State, India to spread the joy of music.

He is also experienced in teaching music. He is “Upantya Visharad” in “Tabla” (rhythm).

One of Life’s Stations

by Stan Phillips

You'd need to walk across a battered, almost perilous, wooden bridge no wider than your outstretched arms, that spanned the moody river Exe, to reach the narrow path that crossed the field, often cow filled, or bullock bedecked, to get to the gate that led to that isolated, deserted, and almost forgotten railway station. Shrouded as it was by the trees, grown wild and arrogant in their unplanned freedom, with birds flying and crying. With foxes lurking, and rabbits scurrying, hedgehogs creeping. Primroses sprouting, and dandelions alive with all manner of buzzy creatures desperately feeding from the newly sprung bounty of that west country morning. Yes, you'd have to do that to see the place I once called home. But I was young then, and full of energy and ideas that morning when I first crossed the field and moved into that forgotten place. And drew water from a well. And chopped wood for my fire. And gathered wild strawberries. And kept chickens. And sat on the edge of a platform, past which the trains would never run again. And watch fireflies, and listen to the rustle of unknown creatures busying themselves in an ecosystem grown crazy by the abandonment of the Great Western Railway, and the wilful, misguided plans of Doctor Beeching. Although had his plans been different, my tale would have taken another course. So everything is really as it needs to be. And I would draw deeply on my cigarette and watch the smoke rise on the still night air, and count the stars. And dream. And dream. And only vaguely realise that life would never be quite as simple again.

Stan Phillips is an 80 year old poet, musical podcast maker, part-time wannabe male model, and occasional stand up comedian. “I used to be a psychotherapist/counsellor when I had an honest job. I was born into prewar London, and attended 17 schools (my father believed they couldn’t hit a moving target) and I eventually finished up here in Ireland. Still wondering what I will be when I grow up — but enjoying writing my quirky poetry as I do so.”

Discover more about Stan on Mom’s Favorite Reads website: https://moms-favorite-reads.com/moms-authors/stan-phillips

Jogging

by Maressa Mortimer

Miranda shivers, rubbing her arms vigorously. Why had she agreed to go along with the early morning running group? She stamps her feet, grumbling to herself about how she’ll get frostbite in her toes at this rate. Maybe she should simply contact Hans, and let him know something went wrong… It’s not just the temperature that makes her shiver.

She smiles at an older man that she recognises. Hopefully, she’ll be in his group. A nice, steady pace, plenty of stops and exercises. One of the trainers claps his hands, and shouts out the various groups and who is running with who. Good, so far the plan is possible.

Miranda follows her group, the steady pace making her breathe hard within seconds. She really should have kept up her fitness. The ground is treacherous, the ruts made by off-road vehicles cutting along the path in narrow ledges. If she steps on them, her ankles will end her plans. Now and then she looks around, struck by the beauty of the woods in winter. She wipes her runny nose, no longer shivering. After the second exercise break, Miranda knows she will need to disappear. She swallows. She hates being on her own in a forest. Again, she considers dropping the plan, but she can just imagine Hans’ reaction. No, she will have to see it through.

In a dense bit of forest, Miranda sprints up a tiny little side route, fast and quiet, putting as much distance between herself and the group as she can. She crouches down behind a small spruce, hoping the greenery will hide her. She stays still, breathing through her mouth. After a few minutes, she presses the purple button that dangles from a cord around her neck. The warmth of the button is comforting, and she shudders as she pushes it back out of sight, tapping her watch whilst getting up stiffly.

Miranda sets off, jogging slowly along the narrow path. She looks back, almost hoping someone from the running group will appear. Nobody can be seen or heard. She forces herself to focus on what lies ahead. Her heart is beating wildly, and Miranda keeps rubbing her hands dry on her soft trousers. She never runs in tight leggings. Not since the one running group, where it went badly wrong for another woman and her leggings… Miranda prefers to be able to do the exercises without worrying about the strength of stitching in her Lycra.

Soon they turn off into narrower forest paths, her breath making white clouds in the very still air. Some of the other joggers are chatting amiably, and she nods and gives one syllable answers to the woman running next to her. Not to be rude, it’s simply lack of oxygen that makes her answers short. Miranda keeps looking ahead as far as she can, hoping to spot a good place where the trainer is most likely to stop, so she can catch her breath. They do stop eventually, and Miranda edges a little off to swing her arms and lift her knees at the trainer’s cheerful instructions, pulling off her gloves at the same time, her hands shaking.

She has plenty of time, according to her watch, but she will need to get clear, as well as stay unnoticed. The woman she ran with is now chatting to another person. Miranda makes sure to be at the back when they set off again. She has to blend in, be as dull as she can be.

She hears a noise, and her breath catches in her throat. Miranda slows a little, looking around carefully. Then suddenly, the man steps out onto the narrow path, just before an open area with crisscross paths going off in all directions. Nice choice. She feels the dampness of her face turn ice-cold, and stumbles to a halt. The man is tall, taller than she had hoped. He looks at her, all of her, and Miranda shudders. The man’s lips curl up, his eyes reminding her of the forest ground underneath: cold and hard, but a runner’s shoe can change that.

She looks as vulnerable as she can, which isn’t hard to do. Trying to look glad to see him is harder than she expected. Just as the man is within reach, her watch vibrates. Once, twice… “Misty...what a pretty name for a beautiful girl.” His voice seems to struggle with the sweet words, and Miranda wonders how long he’s able to keep up the niceness. He frowns, “You look older than I expected,” he says, and Miranda tries to smile like the fourteenyear-old she is supposed to be. Her watch buzzes three times, as the man’s hand suddenly shoots out, grabbing her by her wrist, almost pulling her off her feet.

Miranda reacts, her hesitation just a split second. The man gasps in pain as her foot frees her wrist, breaking branches behind him make him spin round, watching tall, uniformed police officers coming at him from various directions. He turns back to Miranda; his face having lost all pretence. He reaches out for her, but as Miranda steps back, handcuffs click around his wrists.

Miranda is glad when the forest is quiet again, voices further ahead a low rumbling sound. She follows her colleagues down too many forest paths, trying to see the beauty again, the peacefulness. Why had she agreed to go along with the early morning running group? She shivers, rubbing her arms vigorously.

My name is Maressa Mortimer, and I’m Dutch. I live in the beautiful Cotswolds, England, with my husband who is a pastor. We have four (adopted) children. I’m a homeschool mum, so my writing has to be done in the evening, when peace and quiet descends on our house once more. I love exploring questions of faith using novels, as it helps me to see what faith looks like in daily life. My debut novel, Sapphire Beach, was published December 2019. My latest novel, Walled City, launched on December 5th and I’m nearing the first draft of its sequel! Visit my website www.vicarioushome.com to buy signed copies from the shop.