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March!

My morning walks take me towards villages with paddy fields on both sides of the road, this is the time of the year when I see the paddy fields barren. The harvest has been cleared off and there are little birds who have made it home. The green of the bamboos have been casting a soothing canopy around and the mango trees have started to flower. The ripe sugarcanes send forth perfumed vigour. This is March and in my country, it marks a period of transition, while i have been packing my winter wear neatly, it's not summer yet to pack my blanket. Just like the last bit of dried patches of skin fraying at the terminal ends beaten by the lack of moisture, I get beaten between the urge to hold on and the necessity to let go. I hold on to the warm memories of winter, my heart flutters at the onset of the short lived spring. I let go off the chill of winter from my heart while I welcome Spring pouring my heart out for all those Bihu songs which vibrate in the air. In midst of all these, I spot a man. He wears a pink hoodie which reads as NEWYORK, the Y of it has already got faded and it reminds me of the spelling test we were made to undergo back at school where we supplied the missing letters. The man here, almost appears to be a riddle to me .

He stops by the village namghor everyday to offer his prayers. He is barefooted and in between his walks, he takes bigger leaps. Today, as I was crossing by him he flashed a smile at me and I could see his innocence. He knew not who I was but had a warm smile to spread. The pink of his hoodie complemented his brightly lit smile. And I thought maybe I would call him Mr March for he was caught in the web of transition as well. He still was clinging to his hoodie which perhaps had kept him warm during winters but he had paired it with a pair of shorts which spoke of the onset of summer.

I see him everyday, hitting the roads and he seems happy. He keeps talking to himself and seems amused at the slightest pretext. People call him a lunatic but to me he seems a happy soul. He doesn't has much to worry about and seems comfortable in his own skin. He is what I would like to call the spring season personified. His existence is fleeting but nonetheless leaves a lasting impression in his ordinariness which is hard to achieve. He has seen and been through the chill of winter yet had never stopped hoping about spring. Hope is what keeps us going. Hope is what  March all about!

March is the time of goodbyes, the shirts of the school going kids suddenly stop being white, odd messages and promises find their place in it. Hardly do they know best friends would turn into strangers and strangers into best friends. As they finish off their board exams, March suddenly seems boring. They lack purpose which had kept them going for these many months.

March is not just a month, it is a hundred emotions packed in the thunder and lighting filled nights, nights which make me shudder but the calm of the morning acts like magic. The dread gets washed in every shower which brings the smell of rain washed landscape.
March has kept people moving, March is love!

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