In last five years my home has become a sojourn for me. Now and then I have to find time, quite often steal it, to be back to the place which was once all mine. Life gets busy as you grow up, time turns elusive; things change. But there are memories and characteristics of the era you have lived in which you never forget. There are dimensions of that time, good or bad, that get lost. Some leave trail, some prefer a silent exit.
This July when I was leaving home for Delhi, it was probably one of the rare times when I felt like 'am leaving home'. It has become a business in all these years but this was the season of rain with, if not dark lowly clouds, clear blue skies in the daytime, a shower in the evening and splendid starry nights-bright and young! But emotions have no value in the money driven professional world. Emotions have their place in closed closets, heavily locked so as to not let any human sign of feelings escape the door of terribly lost personal worlds. And so at night, I moved out of my house with blessings of father and mother, seated on back of the bike of my brother and there galloped the black horse, driving me to the railway station.
We tore the world of silence, apart, riding on the lonely countryside road, cutting the farms, through the smell of rain, greenery of trees, against the fresh bathed wind and strong stink of rotting flesh probably a dog who met its fate under screeching tyres of truck. And we rode past all that is and was. My brother sensed my melancholy mind and as we passed by some men sitting by the road, he started this conversation
"These people who sit by road side with beedis on one hand, don't mosquitoes bite them?"
"Probably they don't breed in open lands."
"Or probably beedis keep them away."
"Hmmm...maybe."
"Probably they don't come close due to stink."
We shared a light laugh.
After a few minutes I quipped
"It's actually wonderful you know."
"What is?"
"We would be telling stories to our next generation about our time when people used to sit by the road side in dawn and dark to produce colourful excreta. And they would wonder in awe where all that era has disappeared!"
"May be we would have fables about sharing beedis at night!"
We shared a big laugh, at the thought of what would it be, almost losing balance of the bike and in a few minutes there I was in front of the station with memories of my era to escort me to Delhi.
This July when I was leaving home for Delhi, it was probably one of the rare times when I felt like 'am leaving home'. It has become a business in all these years but this was the season of rain with, if not dark lowly clouds, clear blue skies in the daytime, a shower in the evening and splendid starry nights-bright and young! But emotions have no value in the money driven professional world. Emotions have their place in closed closets, heavily locked so as to not let any human sign of feelings escape the door of terribly lost personal worlds. And so at night, I moved out of my house with blessings of father and mother, seated on back of the bike of my brother and there galloped the black horse, driving me to the railway station.
We tore the world of silence, apart, riding on the lonely countryside road, cutting the farms, through the smell of rain, greenery of trees, against the fresh bathed wind and strong stink of rotting flesh probably a dog who met its fate under screeching tyres of truck. And we rode past all that is and was. My brother sensed my melancholy mind and as we passed by some men sitting by the road, he started this conversation
"These people who sit by road side with beedis on one hand, don't mosquitoes bite them?"
"Probably they don't breed in open lands."
"Or probably beedis keep them away."
"Hmmm...maybe."
"Probably they don't come close due to stink."
We shared a light laugh.
After a few minutes I quipped
"It's actually wonderful you know."
"What is?"
"We would be telling stories to our next generation about our time when people used to sit by the road side in dawn and dark to produce colourful excreta. And they would wonder in awe where all that era has disappeared!"
"May be we would have fables about sharing beedis at night!"
We shared a big laugh, at the thought of what would it be, almost losing balance of the bike and in a few minutes there I was in front of the station with memories of my era to escort me to Delhi.
Post Comment
I feel you.
ReplyDeleteIt was awesome.
(although my swine flu part was missing :) )
i think i have said this earlier too......
ReplyDeletethe closed closet and the heavily locked door is something with which you immediately connect and all through these years you have either not made efforts to break free from these shackles or your efforts too have been cryptic....
i dont know my friend what key are you looking for to unlock these feelings which i personally feel are still understood and felt by friends and loved ones....the story of musk deer comes to mind as a flash where the deer will die finding the source of that sweet smell never realising it emanates from within himself....find your key man!!!
and we all like to cuddle up to these memories...its nice having them around :)
good yaar....didn't knew u r such a terrific writer
ReplyDelete@Sangwan
ReplyDeleteThanks man for being in my feelings.
I told you i wll make up a whole new story for you. (Including the swine flu part ;))
@Sush :)
@Akhil
Seems like you have put the whole of me in just a few words and people tell me that i am hard to understand ;)
I know what your are speaking of is true to every word but may be now am afraid to unlock the door, may be am scared of consequences.
Thanks for reading :)
@Vishal
Am just a small writer man, may be you can help me out with some ideas so that i can become the terrific writer you are talking about ;)