The sunrays play lazily in the valley in the winter days. It cozily snuggles in, slowly takes the little houses and the tall trees in its warm embrace. It’s the time of school holidays, college breaks and the time to break free from office and head home for a while. It’s the time to pack a little picnic lunch and hike to a sunny little place around.
She prepares a light lunch, packs a bottle of water and a few seasonal fruits. She’s sure to find those fruits en route but still she prefers to carry her own bounty. She packs her camera religiously, a sweatshirt to ward off the evening chill and heads onwards.
She enjoys her solitary excursion. It satisfies her need to escape, the need to be with herself at peace. The city she has been carrying with herself feels lighter as she climbs up the hill. With every step forward she feels the fetters loosening. All she has for company are people who are deeply engrossed in their daily activity. The laborious ilks are collecting wood for the evening fire or tree leaves for animal fodder. They glance at her nonchalantly and continue with their activity. She occasionally flashes a smile across that gets shyly reciprocated. Along the way she finds scanty shops that give her a sufficient look as if satisfied with their regular customers but humble enough to provide for her if she goes asking. They leave her in peace and don’t shout across to sell her something.
She comes across fellow travelers who carry a backpack like her and brandish their enviable cameras. They are there to soak in the peace, away from the clamor of the city they took refuge in the hills and seem to be overwhelmed with the serenity around. For them it was a first time experience. For them the beauty of the hills and the sky overhead is a novelty that they want to capture in their cameras and take it with them. They look at the glory of the hills on ‘one’ wintery day, they have not seen it all verdant in monsoons, nor in blossoms in April. She had. For them the river flowing below was all tame and somber, they had not seen her wild and gurgling in the rains. She had. It amused them to look at the antiques of the monkeys around, the young ones trudging along their mothers. However she had fought them when they came to uproot the pretty geranium she had planted and gnaw at their stems.
But that was long back. She has been away all these years. She had to move out for her education. She had to move out for her career she always had her reasons to march ahead and leave her home behind. It suddenly struck her where did she belong now. Is she the outsider who looks all around with a sense of surprise? Her life spent in the hills is now a memory for her, will it slowly keep fading away. Would she gaze at these photographs some day and not feel nostalgic. Will the alienation someday make her a tourist in her own beloved home?
She stood by the still mountain top overlooking the meandering road and watched afar at the lazy bus as it tried to negotiate the turn with utmost care. She spread out her mat loosened her backpack and sat still with her eyes following the approaching bus. It amused her to look at the so very familiar roadways bus that looked like a lost leviathan from her childhood days. It brought back memories of all the trips to all the relatives spread out in the hilly-hemisphere. Spreading her hands on the grass beneath her she found the little ‘lady bird’ as it scurried its way hurriedly. She picked it up, looked closely at the beauty of her red and black spots as it walked across her palm. She felt lighter within. Just as light as the blooming white dandelion that allows the wind to just sweep it away.
She looked reassuringly to the hills. Her every childhood memory was still preserved with them. It was as if when she was around they could sense her, and then they would playfully toss around all those memories, which bounced and echoed loudly enough for her to recollect everything vividly back again.
They would speak to her even when she returned after a long silence. And the girl knew deep within, she will always return, for it was the only place that she would ever call home.
She prepares a light lunch, packs a bottle of water and a few seasonal fruits. She’s sure to find those fruits en route but still she prefers to carry her own bounty. She packs her camera religiously, a sweatshirt to ward off the evening chill and heads onwards.
She enjoys her solitary excursion. It satisfies her need to escape, the need to be with herself at peace. The city she has been carrying with herself feels lighter as she climbs up the hill. With every step forward she feels the fetters loosening. All she has for company are people who are deeply engrossed in their daily activity. The laborious ilks are collecting wood for the evening fire or tree leaves for animal fodder. They glance at her nonchalantly and continue with their activity. She occasionally flashes a smile across that gets shyly reciprocated. Along the way she finds scanty shops that give her a sufficient look as if satisfied with their regular customers but humble enough to provide for her if she goes asking. They leave her in peace and don’t shout across to sell her something.
She comes across fellow travelers who carry a backpack like her and brandish their enviable cameras. They are there to soak in the peace, away from the clamor of the city they took refuge in the hills and seem to be overwhelmed with the serenity around. For them it was a first time experience. For them the beauty of the hills and the sky overhead is a novelty that they want to capture in their cameras and take it with them. They look at the glory of the hills on ‘one’ wintery day, they have not seen it all verdant in monsoons, nor in blossoms in April. She had. For them the river flowing below was all tame and somber, they had not seen her wild and gurgling in the rains. She had. It amused them to look at the antiques of the monkeys around, the young ones trudging along their mothers. However she had fought them when they came to uproot the pretty geranium she had planted and gnaw at their stems.
But that was long back. She has been away all these years. She had to move out for her education. She had to move out for her career she always had her reasons to march ahead and leave her home behind. It suddenly struck her where did she belong now. Is she the outsider who looks all around with a sense of surprise? Her life spent in the hills is now a memory for her, will it slowly keep fading away. Would she gaze at these photographs some day and not feel nostalgic. Will the alienation someday make her a tourist in her own beloved home?
She stood by the still mountain top overlooking the meandering road and watched afar at the lazy bus as it tried to negotiate the turn with utmost care. She spread out her mat loosened her backpack and sat still with her eyes following the approaching bus. It amused her to look at the so very familiar roadways bus that looked like a lost leviathan from her childhood days. It brought back memories of all the trips to all the relatives spread out in the hilly-hemisphere. Spreading her hands on the grass beneath her she found the little ‘lady bird’ as it scurried its way hurriedly. She picked it up, looked closely at the beauty of her red and black spots as it walked across her palm. She felt lighter within. Just as light as the blooming white dandelion that allows the wind to just sweep it away.
She looked reassuringly to the hills. Her every childhood memory was still preserved with them. It was as if when she was around they could sense her, and then they would playfully toss around all those memories, which bounced and echoed loudly enough for her to recollect everything vividly back again.
They would speak to her even when she returned after a long silence. And the girl knew deep within, she will always return, for it was the only place that she would ever call home.
