SEA OF MEMORIES

Metro is a melting pot

under the searing mid noon-sun.

Spending at least thirty minutes

leaning over

the balcony of the

flat on the tenth floor of this

multi-storeyed building

with eyes hovering over

the vast sea of

sky-rocketing concrete structures,

a few of them factories

with dark clouds of smoke

billowing out of

the dusky chimneys

the madding crowd

and roaring vehicles

are something nauseating to me.

With a tense and cloudy mind

I go inside the flat

and slump into my bed.

In my moments of solitude

my mind dives deep into the

sea of memories

where I find my

native village wrapped around

with transparent and verdant clothes

the swift flowing river

down my ancestral home

I see myself swimming

along the river with

my childhood friends in a spirit of sportsmanship.

That old mango tree

in the premises of home

in its flowering season

gradually evolve into

little and then

a bit more large-sized

green mangoes,

green mangoes gradually

ripening and

developing into mouth-watering sweet fruits

for which I and my

childhood friends

waiting anxiously for  winds to flow

from elsewhere

which occasionally blow

and shake the  branches

resulting in the mango-fruits falling

in ones, twos and severally

followed by our competition

running after the mango fruits

to collect them

and our little, little squabbles.

Green, paddy fields

houses with tiled roofs partially-visible  behind

coconut trees, areca nut trees, plantain and vegetable gardens.

The temple in the neighbourhood

and two old giant-sized peepal trees

infront of and on both sides of

the temple,

the get-together

of youths sitting

on the round platforms built

around the peepal trees

in the twilight sun

spreading its vast

transparent golden cloth across the land

cracking wits

the evening pilgrims

who visit the temple

to offer oblations before the God

standing before

the deity with folded palms.

A long-winding path

in front of the temple

on both sides of which

flowers of various colours

stick out

inviting everyone’s attraction

and the path opening to

a tarred road running

south to the north like a dark serpent

and houses, tea shops

provisional stores

and cigarettes and pan vendors

on both sides of the

road and…and……and……………….

Lo and behold

now in the midst of concrete structures

listening to the ear-splitting

nauseating noises of a

metro…..since

the last several years.

Now that my village

also has turned into a city

and all the greenery gone

the only alternative left to me

is diving deep into the sea of

my memories… once in a while.