How often you lay your back on a mat on the roof, which is still warm from the day's heat; and without your phone vibrating around, glance at the moonless dark sky garnished beautifully with shining dots; some bright, some just bright enough to be visible. The mat your mother bought from the salesman at the door after heavy U.P. bargaining provides a little itching trying hard for you to get off it, but the visual plight just covers for all the itching, for all the heat.
Is this sky really that beautiful? How do I never see it anymore. I remember in the olden days, somewhere between the transition of the centuries, we used to climb up the bamboo ladder (seedhi) on the boundary-less-roof, lay there, talk, play antakshari. Yes we had a ladder and no stairs, which we used more than often because of the trademark electricity cuts from the khamba of the clumsy old Lucknow mohallas.
But we often disregard the beautiful (important) things which are going to be always there. and it's quiet reasonable too. If we know it's never going to be disappear, why would we even care. But this ignorance often makes us forget that there is this beautiful thing. And in situations where you try finding answers to the questions you wished you never had to answer, sometimes turning to these helps.
So next time when you're on a long bus ride, your knees are hurting, your back is paining and you try look out of the window for a subject, instead of trying to hold on the sight of the trees arranged in a haphazard way, or the television under a triangle hut, or the subdued fir on a distant field, try once looking at the bright saptrishi, as when contentment cannot be provided by temporary feats, the stationary goals always do the job.
Is this sky really that beautiful? How do I never see it anymore. I remember in the olden days, somewhere between the transition of the centuries, we used to climb up the bamboo ladder (seedhi) on the boundary-less-roof, lay there, talk, play antakshari. Yes we had a ladder and no stairs, which we used more than often because of the trademark electricity cuts from the khamba of the clumsy old Lucknow mohallas.
So next time when you're on a long bus ride, your knees are hurting, your back is paining and you try look out of the window for a subject, instead of trying to hold on the sight of the trees arranged in a haphazard way, or the television under a triangle hut, or the subdued fir on a distant field, try once looking at the bright saptrishi, as when contentment cannot be provided by temporary feats, the stationary goals always do the job.
Happines in life's simple things.
ReplyDeleteHow fondly I remember the chhatt and the games and the fun. :)
so aptly put by tanya! we dont need big things to make us happy but evn a small smile on face frm the memories we have can swing the mood to whole diffrnt era
ReplyDelete