This is one of my earlier attempts of blogging.I had posted memories in four parts and the first one I am re-posting here.
At times a procession of memories conquer our present and our mind becomes a participant of that.
…….that never returns…
There are a good many things that never return in their original forms. The time that we spend, the food that we gulp, the objects that burn, the lives that expire etc. are a few of such things.
There is one thing that everybody likes or rather loves to experience once more in life, but cannot, is nothing but our 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, sailing in the ship of their memory. And so also is no different my case as many a time, the childhood of mine, once pedaled in my beloved village, registers its presence in the ledger of my leisure hours.
Yes, now I’m there at the panorama of my village which is in the south of
southernmost part of India
contains 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 it as hornbills. 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 land owners and the peasants kept a sincere bond of love and affection. One could feel an 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 difficulties with a combined endeavor. In general the occupants of my village possessed a light heart in hardships as well as prosperity because they had no sky breaking dreams or ambitions. Innocence and earnestness ruled the inhabitants’ minds as a whole.