I aint a child anymore. I very well get that. But then, as in everyone’s life, there could be something in mine too, that can bring out a bit of a child in me. It kinda contradicts my own theory that I never felt child enough. Life was always very pragmatic and rational to me. Excuse the past tense. It still is so and will as well continue so. Eventually, I reckon that my losses are something that I lost in the mad rush of articulations. Knowing it to myself, that none was intentional, I assume I can live through the losses. Ironically, despite the whole missing of sweet naughty memories, I do have occasional reminiscences. Of a past that I never had.
My nostalgia and longing have always been mocked upon. I dont blame anyone. Nor am I particularly sad about being laughed at. I honestly understand that all of them have a point. For my nostalgia is ridiculously dwelling on a past that I never had. It’s difficult to fathom and empathise with me. Very so often, I fail at that all by myself. My birth and raising up was completely in a city, that’s continuously pacing to the “Metro” status. My life is pivoted around the city and the normal urban middle class scale. But every time I visit my dad’s native, something changes in me. From my very first visit till the current one,(typing from the very same home’s sit out), I have increasingly fallen for this place and the old ancestral home.I connect perfectly to the village, the temple nearby, the temple pond, the home itself, the extended backyard, the cramped bathroom, the dimly litambiance, the ear-bursting loudspeakers. Not to forget the dusty attic and the rickety ‘monuments’ and the ‘priceless treasure’ that I dig out of them, in every single visit.
I wish I could write more and relate my existence to something worth the survival. But instinctively, I believe that somethings are better unsaid. The aura that this place radiates, is amazing.I am spellbound by it’s charm. I am surprise how I am urged to write about one particular thing. The swing of my life. The only one that I truly admired for its rhythmic oscillations. As I sit on it and rock myself, it feels like the entire world is striving to do away with my sleeplessness and cradle me into a peaceful sound sleep. My swing!
For the first time, there was actually a choice to not rock myself. Somebody else did it for me. I am glad. Blissful.
Update : I guess the reference to the swing was very vague. But have a close look at the image just above this. Its an open gate with another opened gate within it. That’s where I sit and rock! 😛