Roses

Dusk was settling in as I walked towards the Bus Stand to board a bus for the journey to my Village. As I walked through the city I noticed a lot of lights, fanfare and music. It looked like a festival of some sort was going on. At first I did not realise the reason for this but on noticing the beautiful roses in the hands of people I recalled that it was Valentine’s Day.  It was a pretty sight and I stood there taking in the fun and excitement and just for a moment I thought to relax and mingle with the crowd and buy a rose or two. But then it was a pointless thought and I resumed my journey.

The Blue Haveli

She stood at a distance, looking at the dilapidated building that had intrigued her ever since she was a kid. Mamta had had no friends ever since she was a kid. Things had not changed yet.

Therefore, whenever she felt lonely she used to come and stand right there gazing at the blue splendour. They said that this place had been cursed and so no one ever ventured as far as Mamta did. She had been told to do the same but her curiosity had led her to locate the breach in the fence of the adjoining farm and come here as often as possible.

Monsoon in November, Heat in December

To quote William Henry Davies, “What is this life full of care if, we have no time to stand and stare”, has been aptly worded to illuminate the robotic existence that has befallen man. I can vouch that cent percent for myself at least. The Welsh poet also illustrates the simple bounties of nature in the most extraordinary way exciting the literary geek to experience them all over again. Why am I all of a sudden in the middle of the night with an exam round the corner eulogizing a poem -my immortal love for nature? I remember reading this poem in the 4th grade and at that point of time in my life where I was a bonehead did not much appreciate the poem, castigating it as another intellectual poison inflicted on us poor souls. Davies is known for his simple yet deep work which has an earthy connotation to it. My favourite line is “no time to see the woods we pass”, because unfortunately with the kind of corporatised life that I have, I hardly have time to ‘check out’ (to articulate it in the local lingo), the wondrous lush greenery that breathes in the vicinity of my current residence.

The Journey

Bhagwati sat dejected gazing towards the calm expanse of the Ganges. Her clouded vision preventing her from seeing the scene which was so clear in her mind – the cremation of Madhu, the support through her journey.

It was then that Sushila stepped out of the ancient structure where lived several young and old widows, ostracized by society. Sushila, a young widow lacked the spirit and zeal that a 20 year old possesses. Her eyes did not have sparkling dreams, just a curtain of sadness which covered the sorrow inside her. Sushila sat beside Bhagwati and began describing the funeral ceremony taking place on the banks – faintly visible from where they sat.