At times knowingly or unknowingly a procession of childhood memories creep into people's minds.I am not an exemption but an example of that. And so is this write-up titled ...
.... that never returns...
Part -1
There are a good many things that never return in their original forms. The time that we waste, the words that we speak, the food that we gulp, the objects that we burn, the money that we spend, the lives that expire etc. are a few of such things. There is one thing that everybody likes or rather loves to experience at least once more in life, but cannot, is nothing but his or her childhood. And that will never- never appear before us, once more and that is a paradox which we have to go by. Yet sometimes we wish we were children without any wish for achievements and without any chains for movements. But we can have a voyage along with our mind through the seas of our good old days of getting patted and pampered. There will be none who have not reached the shore of sweet childhood once more, without sailing in the ship of their memory. And so also no different I am, as many a time, the childhood of mine, once pedalled in my beloved village, registers its presence in the ledger of my leisure hours.
Yes, now I’m there at the panorama of my endearing village which is in the south of India . The southernmost part of India has a small corrugated leaf-like state called Kerala. The village with its picturesqueness steals the mind of its visitors as well as the dwellers. It was, yes, it was full of tall trees with swaying twigs and bushes with lots and lots of flowers(And now more or less concrete trees or jungles have displaced the very charm of our lovely village). Butterflies and birds fluttered by and visited their favourite nectar storage to feast themselves sufficiently. That was indeed a colourful sight. Wells quenched the thirst of peasants, while ponds refreshed them after the day’s work. Fields grew grains in abundance and trees and plants yielded fruits and flowers in plenty. They dressed up in the apparels of three crops annually, two turns of paddy and one turn of sesame or horticulture.
The cool breeze fanned the people in the hot sun. The sun never failed to attend to his duties and shone on all the stone pebbles and sand particles. The monsoons were real ambrosia for the villagers, as they awaited them, just like hornbills did for rains. Birds often turned to be great singers and sang melodious tunes for the villagers. They occupied their seats in branches to watch coolly the things going on smoothly in their jurisdiction. Nights also exhibited the luster and lure of her children-the moon and stars, whenever required.
The cool breeze fanned the people in the hot sun. The sun never failed to attend to his duties and shone on all the stone pebbles and sand particles. The monsoons were real ambrosia for the villagers, as they awaited them, just like hornbills did for rains. Birds often turned to be great singers and sang melodious tunes for the villagers. They occupied their seats in branches to watch coolly the things going on smoothly in their jurisdiction. Nights also exhibited the luster and lure of her children-the moon and stars, whenever required.
The landowners and the peasants kept a sincere bond of love and affection with each other. One could observe and feel a oneness between them. The peasants took care of the fields and cultivations whereas the masters cared for the workers’ welfare. Pretension had space seldom in the minds of both the giver and the taker. They understood the barriers that hindered each other and so they could overcome the impediments with a combined endeavor. In general, the occupants of my village possessed a light heart in hardships as well as in prosperities,which did not bless the villagers in plenty. At the same time they had no sky breaking dreams or ambitions. Innocence and earnestness ruled the minds of inhabitants, as a whole.
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