image courtesy: http://randomwritins.blogspot.in/
We all wonder where the people, places and memories from our childhood went away. It's not that they went away, we just grow distant, move, things change, people pass on and finally we are left with just us. You. Me. The silence in between those spaces between us are filled with thoughts of impressions which we carry along. Sometimes, hidden deep between the recesses of our minds. Very hard to reach and very rarely reached for. But in the flash of a second, if ever that forgotten memory comes to fore, it stirs within the depth of our soul, the youth of an era that was so wonderful, so remarkably beautiful and cherished that we don't want to let go off and try to relive it as much as possible, even if it just remains a memory now.
Such is a memory of my grandfather and his Gulmohar tree. It was located right in front of my grandfather's house. Even before we could reach the house through the narrow lane, we could see the tree while we rode in the car. We could just smell home and haven watching the tree grow bigger and bigger as we drew closer.
Behind it majesty, stood our house, my grandfather's house- but 'house' all the same. Ever ready to greet us. Achachan, as we used to call him, would always be seated inside and watching through the window. As the car honked, he would rest his newspaper on the teapoy and come out to greet us.
I would spend the rest of my summer, year after year, informing him that it would be our last time together because when school re-opened, our results would be out, and mum would kill and bury me as promised, if I did not make it to the top of the class. He would solemnly ask me if she would really do it and I would nod. She always meant what she said. He would then make me a paper boat and we would go by the pond and watch it sail away. He was my best friend in the whole world.
After a couple of summers, the tree was gone. They had cut it away. All that was left of it when we returned was the stump. It was not good. It was not good at all. Behind the house, lay branches of the mighty tree, the tree that was meant to protect us, all dried up and rotten. We were supposed to stay under it and Achachan was meant to talk to me, under it. But it was all gone now. How could this have happened? Why didn't anyone tell me? I questioned Amma so many times. Finally she mumbled something about grandmother having a hard time sweeping off the leaves that shed every day and it was messing up the courtyard. "Oh, come on, Ma! That's what trees are meant to dooooo! My poor tree.", I lamented. But it was all over. The next year, there was no tree, there was no grandfather.
Summers would never ever be the same again. I know I can never go back to those times. No one can replace him.
If I could connect back to those times again, I would love to talk to -
My Grandfather and the beautiful Gulmohar tree. I know most of you would tut at me wanting to speak to a tree but believe it or not, I still do :) Trees are my friends. Just as my grandfather was. He was silent but he was always there. That's why I cherish talking to him. He taught me how incredible silence is.
My Grandfather and the beautiful Gulmohar tree. I know most of you would tut at me wanting to speak to a tree but believe it or not, I still do :) Trees are my friends. Just as my grandfather was. He was silent but he was always there. That's why I cherish talking to him. He taught me how incredible silence is.
I would also get in touch with a very close friend, Simba, who sadly drifted away, or maybe he had always been adrift but I did not realize it. I just would like to chat with him to know why he did because I can't figure out for the life of me what went wrong...or right? Just wish things would be back to before or the confusion settles down. I hope and pray that Simba comes back.
My mentor, Shiva, is another source of guiding light in my life and it would be great if I could get his input on a daily basis about everything on the professional front.
Daya, who was guiding me in art, is a constant source of inspiration and lesson to me that age has nothing to do with who we are. He is about 80 now and is a living example of how life should be dealt with. Even though he loves to gossip, which is not my thing, I still would like to chat with him.
Guardian angel, I know that there are more than one in my life. I hope they stay close and help me through this wonderful journey of life.
Daya, who was guiding me in art, is a constant source of inspiration and lesson to me that age has nothing to do with who we are. He is about 80 now and is a living example of how life should be dealt with. Even though he loves to gossip, which is not my thing, I still would like to chat with him.
Guardian angel, I know that there are more than one in my life. I hope they stay close and help me through this wonderful journey of life.
Last but not the least, I have a Guru, who is my biggest blessing. I know that he was sent to me by the Creator and I am fiercely protective about him. It's always amazing to be in touch with him and I think he's the only person who gives me unconditional love and sees me for who I am. He protects me and guides me with the innocence of a child. He has been the guiding light in the fiercest of oppositions that I deal with.
This post has been entered to a current contest being run by Indiblogger and WeChat
This post has been entered to a current contest being run by Indiblogger and WeChat















