I smell Xewali as I silently sneak in the misty evening.
October it is, the dusk settling in through timid flakes.
The dotted white and saffron streaks brighten the night sky.
The smell of xewali pierces the evening gloom
And take me in a roller coaster ride.
I see a girl with a missing tooth carefully bending to the ground
She picks xewalis each morning to adorn her grandma's hair
How happy, how carefree her life seems
A blackening cloud drip drops out of a weeping sky.
I get jolted back.
Back to the ground,
Back to this October gloom,
But, the smell of xewalis linger as I move back.
I am the eldest grandchild in my family. And being the eldest, I was pampered a great deal by my grandparents. My aama (grandma) and baa (grandpa) always shielded me from every possible dangers including thrashings from maa. I have pleasant memories of evening story sessions as grandpa took me to bed. Aama would oil my hair and tie pony tails which resembled coconut trees that I used to draw. Sundays meant elaborate sessions with my grandparents. Baa would trim my nails, aama would fondle me to sleep. Their bed room was literally my playing room, my story book reading room, my painting room and what not. With time, as I grew, I got a room of my own but their room was still my favourite one. When I left for hostel, I missed them more than I missed my parents. It was in the year 2014, I had come home after my exams when aama received a pressure stroke . She couldn't make it. I had spent a month as he lay sick on her bed. All of a sudden, there was a role reversal. I could
Memories are a means of time travel. That's the only thing that defies all the physics to give us a ride to our past. And it doesn't carry any butterfly effect which makes our return journey to the present a safe one.
ReplyDeleteVery true. So, it's like being etched to life through memories. Time flies but memories remain.
ReplyDelete