A recollection of someone else’s memory
October 6, 2013 § 3 Comments
Pelting rain and relentless wind. In the wet evenings of early summer, we slip down the green leaves. The branches wave noisily at the grey night as it descends with another downpour. We tip-toe around small pools with atwinkle stars and rush to the veranda. The scent of pakoras and fresh tea – the clock announces 1. Time, now here, now lost. Good-natured chatter on some days, my blurry memories cough back a few scenes.
But I couldn’t be sure, such were the degrees of separation. 18 years and twenty days. Nearly forever. A dim recollection engraved on mind like a recluse amidst an ocean of hazy, blurry nothings.
We return on the day the huge wooden front door is left to sway painfully in the wild wind. The pane noisily happens against the frame, one blow after another. In a brief bout of respite, we slip through, back into the memory lane of evening lamps and hide-and-seek. A nostalgia hangs in the thin air, spread evenly upon the quiet veranda. We whirl and dance on the cobblestone steps, now delicately, now in a drunken stupor, wild and forgetful.
The trees are still the bright shine of a quite glee. They sway to our steps and nigh on two decades, they still whisper and recognize. And we laugh and read.