A SOIREE OF MEMORIES

The images are blurry now. But the moment I shut my eyes I am transported back in time when I was a little girl. Recollecting those days fill me with a certain kind of comfort. The most vivid part I remember was the path leading to school. Embedded with sprawling green trees on both sides, the mud filled road would let out a billow of smoke every time a rickety old car used to pass over it. At the far end of the lane there stood a lone majestic tree, which had flowers in muted colors of dull gold and pink. There was something so enchanting about those flowers that carried a wicked scent that if I was allowed time to sneak away from school, I would have merrily sat underneath the tree stringing at those scattered flowers.

At the same time what triggers my memory was an old wives tale doing the rounds then that the fragrance emitted from those flowers used to be so powerful that they would attract snakes in the middle of the night. And to add to it, if one made the ludicrous mistake of passing under the ill-fated tree during the dark hours, one could very well hear the hiss of the snakes coiled up in the hanging roots of that tree. (Shudder!)

Another place which distinctly sprouts happy memories in my head is spending summer holidays in the village. The house where I stayed was sturdily built and largely contained mammoth rooms but the place that was closest to my heart and still is, was being cooped up inside a tiny room which had a small wooden window, opening up to a patch of land that housed a variety of trees. Many a summer has passed in getting my petite form curled up in the secure branches of the mango trees reading a book or two without a care in the world.

For me the most memorable part of my day was when the sun used to crouch behind puffed up angry clouds, turning the sky into a somber grey, resulting in rain falling in straight thick sheets. It felt like witnessing a musical frenzy as shards of lightning would dazzle the sky followed with loud claps of thunder. The trees would shake vigorously in answer to the nature’s fury. The wooden window would rattle hard, maybe urging me to shut it so I didn’t have to witness the manic mood of the monsoon.  But all that I would do was stay transfixed at the very spot watching nature unfolding its magic.

Within a span of few minutes, the whole atmosphere would change and the situation would come under control. The entire place drenched, freshly washed used to look beautiful; the olive green leaves would shine as dew drops nestled on it, the birds would come out of their hiding joints, shaking their wings enthusiastically as though trying to get rid of the last droplets of water. The scent of freshly washed mound of earth would fill up the entire place, and in a far off corner, the wood would get piled in a stack to start a raging fire.

So how many of us take time out and travel the off beaten path to relive the memories which made everything feel so special when you were a child?