Though the place has now become a sojourn, these droplets return in the form of reminiscences, live and intact, regardless of place.
The monsoon refreshed the memories which were locked in the box of childhood. It coloured the pictures which were in black and white.
The blooming flowers moving in the afternoon breeze, the windy meetings, the paper boats which floated merrily in the clogged water, the mud puddles, the drenched clothes.
The yellows, crimsons, greens and all sorts of bright colours, painted the summer, the one which is treasured to this day. Where we remained outside our homes all day;
Catching butterflies, the bee wandering for nectar, the cravings for ice cream, sand castles, then the quarrel for the largest share of the juicy mangoes with cousins.
Days were comparatively longer, making it more lively with people and children shouting and screaming. Running with paper fans in their hand which moved with the direction of wind.
Then came the people from the neighbourhood complaining about our mischiefs. Elders gossiping about how the day went while they eat. Night ended in the arms of a fairy or a warrior saving us from the evil demons. Those were some days when we got fortunate enough to embrace the night sky full of stars and moon. What cheerful days of summer were those!
Walking on the dried and scattered leaves, that made a circle around the tree from which it was shed, the dried and wrinkled hues brought the memory of autumn.
In the fuzzy lanes of winters, warm coats with fur on, tints of greys, of blacks and browns, forging ahead making their presence felt. The room turns into place to spend most of the time, yearnings for tea and coffee, making blanket hills, prolonged sleeps, delayed works. The adherence to beliefs of one’s own, reflecting over emotions, avoiding people and their planned meetings. Things and stuff get blanket zoned. All for a month of chilling cold.
Hope gets regained by the arrival of spring. The colours taking life, of leaves getting reborn, flowers peeking out from their hibernation, animals grazing over lands, the balmy sun of the afternoons. The urge to meet people and have long pending talks. The perfect blend made with walks to random places and of sunsets.
With seasons there grew a soul gazing over on them from behind, gathering memories as they came over and over, they always change a bit, like a human changing clothes, they beautify and strengthen our nostalgia and relationships with nature, seasons breathe and make a life of their own, like a still picture with moving water.