Reminiscence

The rustle of dry leaves.

The blue sky. 

The soft morning sun.

The chilly winds.

The dry river beds.

 People love this season for various reasons.  Winter is here and I am back to my country home again. One of the first things I do on reaching is to perch on a hillock and gaze around, the sky , the houses, the stacks of dry hay, the trees , the landscape . Sometimes  a house in the distance with a smoking chimney catches my eye and I stay glued to it . Yet  sometimes its the cowherd boy driving the cattle back-home against the backdrop of the setting sun and the flock of birds following close  by. A simple frame can get hold of you and never let go like a dried up tree against the blue coloured sky dotted with faint clouds. The other night I noticed a string of lights - courtyard lamps of faraway houses - country lights.

It was mid day when I hit the road towards my village. I threw my luggage on top of the jeep and helped myself to a seat - only a few remained. It was a sight to behold - the vehicle had a whole neighbourhood on the inside from sackful of rice to winter clothing and groceries to be sold. It carried twice its authorised limit if not less and I sat there calculating the risk involved and time it would take me to reach home. At sundown I was halfway and the mountains had started casting  shadows whereas the other half still remain lit. People stood outside their houses and some waited by the roadside expecting relatives to drop by. The vehicle was filled with talks and occasions of laughter - real laughter. I tried my best to keep to myself and look serious but their  lively talk drew me in. The vehicle slowly climbed the hills halting at times to give way to military trucks and good-ladden lorries. By the time I reached home the golden rays had lifted giving way to  chilly winter dusk. With a cup of tea in one hand I dragged a chair with the other and climbed down to sit on the edge of the pond. The cold air made my fingers numb as I sat still gathering myself to the constant chirping of fireflies as the hanging scarecrow swayed by. I sat there for a while soaking it all in, detoxing myself. The moon shone bright as I sat watching its reflection on the pond water, occasionally throwing pebbles creating ripples - such a delight. 

 There’s nothing fonder than childhood memories. And while many look back upon various animation series , fictional characters and video games I had a whole different world altogether. Very early I got attracted to books and mythical characters surrounded me - Arjuna and Achilles equally. Greece and Rome were anonymous to Ayodhya and Indraprastha. The real world was no less interesting either - I had a self-made bow with carved handle, a little dangerous for adventure as I look back now. I recollect a strange bird venturing into our village with no feathers , very strange looking and the first thing I had done was to redo my weapon inventory - I had my arrows armed with sharpened nails and extra arrows made . Many evenings I secretly sneaked  into the fields and baited the bird but with no much luck. However I got close enough to get get a close look which scared me and that ended further misadventures. The other time it was a doe, but this time I was no match for its quick legs and I was contended to watch it playing in the fields and watch it grow. One day it vanished never to return , probably felled prey to some hunter. Years later I made a sketch and hung it on my study wall. For others it was a fair attempt at sketching but only I knew its story. Just yesterday I rescued a pigeon from the clutches of a vulture, the sly bird had it firmly in its clutches and wouldn’t let go until I was just a few paces far. But then it nearly grabbed it mid air again-  I stood struck by  its agility and strength. For someone with eyes and ears open country life is a never ending adventure.

Friends form an important part of life. Even back then I found my story resonating quite with those from Ruskin’s tale. Most of all I remember our kite project - collecting stuffs to several unsuccessful attempts and finally the joy of seeing it high in the air. We made several after that , some with colourful tails and even sold out some. The grin that followed still form images from that of a polaroid photograph.We climbed trees that stood nearly upto the clouds. Every time I am home I still try climbing some. It takes more efforts than it used to and the branches have started drying up too. I stay up lost for a while until flutter from neighbouring trees break my chain of thoughts. But we didn’t always climbed for fun and it didn’t matter much if the berries were still sour, we would fill our pockets all the same. And quite like the squirrels we would leave some under twigs and leaves to ripen and forget it altogether because it would be time to go fishing and groundnuts had to be collected too otherwise take the risk of the other kids discovering it first. Catching prawns in the cold waters formed part of our routine during the winters. We had, over time gained expertise in locating it’s habitat but drawing it out from under the rocks was always a feat. We would then bask in the sun and distribute the catch- wild apples, berries , groundnuts and fish. Once I had a bamboo flute made and would play annoying tunes all day long. As I grew up all these was replaced with books - I always carried around copies of children magazine while tending flocks , sometimes it was Wordsworth who gave me company and sometimes I carried the translated version of the Bhagavad Gita . 

 Last evening as I sat by the fire to complete this note I was drawn into the past , warm thoughts surrounded me quite oblivious of the present. The screen blacked out which woke me up. This would be the last evening here at my country home until next time. The cold wind brought faint notes of gospel songs, it is Christmas time, the woods crackled and the fire dazzled and swayed. As the world was gearing up to holiday, celebrate Christmas and welcome another year it was my time to pack up and leave for work - a life less ordinary, they has warned me. So I did what we all do when we know its time to leave - try to absorb it all. I took deep breaths taking in as much air as I possibly could, I felt  the cold air down to my lungs but I wanted more of it. It felt so fresh. It carried the scent of so many things- the freshly baked bread from the neighbours , the bellows of the smith , the bark of trees and there is this distinct beautiful scent of night flowers. The talk of the night was interpretation of dreams and witchcraft . I knew what I was going to miss. I slammed close my laptop and thought I’ll check the grammar during the flight.