i like it this time of the year... there is the promise of a shower and the wind carries with it the musty smell of wet earth. every tree, sapling and stray weed is dressed in the most dazzling display of green, the new leaves are a bright neon green, like noisy little children at a fair, the older ones wear rich, deeper greens, like quiet, dignified matriarchs and patriarchs, shaking their heads indulgently at the younger ones.
i am beginning to understand why there is such a primordial connection between man and earth. we seek permanence, we seek something larger than our selves... something that will last much longer than our flesh and bones will... longer than our loves, longer than our children and their children... and land does.
to own a piece of the earth, to be able to call it our own, to find significance in that fistful of soil, to be able to plant our naked feet on it and feel the craggy pebbles and the grit under the soles of our feet... that must be something.
i have lived all my life perched in a flat, these coccooned shells that we call modern housing. bombay takes this definition even further. the practicality of life and living in bombay does not allow for fanciful structures like verandahs. who's got the time to stand and stare?
even these little spaces that allowed for some sky and green are quickly covered with iron grills and converted into storage spaces. this used to be a favorite preoccupation with me, while the 7:45 andheri, fast local shuttled and heaved through the city, i would stare at all the houses that zipped by me, i would look at the windows and the shuttered balconies stuffed with cycles, tires, plastic drums, trunks, bedding, tarpauline, clotheslines, old fridges, dalda cans... and wonder about the lives of the people who lived within.
well, i am glad i left that seductress behind, with all her glittering lights and sinous alleys.
i dont know if i will ever be able to own a small plot of land, until then i have brought the earth into my home... and it is a sight that gladdens me every morning.
i am beginning to understand why there is such a primordial connection between man and earth. we seek permanence, we seek something larger than our selves... something that will last much longer than our flesh and bones will... longer than our loves, longer than our children and their children... and land does.
to own a piece of the earth, to be able to call it our own, to find significance in that fistful of soil, to be able to plant our naked feet on it and feel the craggy pebbles and the grit under the soles of our feet... that must be something.
i have lived all my life perched in a flat, these coccooned shells that we call modern housing. bombay takes this definition even further. the practicality of life and living in bombay does not allow for fanciful structures like verandahs. who's got the time to stand and stare?
even these little spaces that allowed for some sky and green are quickly covered with iron grills and converted into storage spaces. this used to be a favorite preoccupation with me, while the 7:45 andheri, fast local shuttled and heaved through the city, i would stare at all the houses that zipped by me, i would look at the windows and the shuttered balconies stuffed with cycles, tires, plastic drums, trunks, bedding, tarpauline, clotheslines, old fridges, dalda cans... and wonder about the lives of the people who lived within.
well, i am glad i left that seductress behind, with all her glittering lights and sinous alleys.
i dont know if i will ever be able to own a small plot of land, until then i have brought the earth into my home... and it is a sight that gladdens me every morning.
4 comments:
:) beaootiful piece of writing!
I never read when I am travelling, especially when travelling by buses or trains. The bit about looking into the balconies of apartments while travelling in a local kinda it home for me. I make it a point to look into people's homes, when on such a journey, this has been my 'reading' for as long as I can remember.
It is not because of a sudden fit of voyeurism on my part, but this urge to read the lives of strangers by looking at the colour of their walls. One may say that I am judgemental, and I guess I am. However, I am yet to look into the homes of people I didn't like. May be I am just lucky.
I moved into my new apartment about a year and a half back, and still haven't seen the inside of my neighbour's house, didn't feel the need to, or maybe that I think would be wrong.
As W.H. Auden has said, "Peeping Toms/are never praised, like novelists or bird watchers,/for their keenness of observation."
awesome feroz... thank you for sharing this with me... the only way we can learn i guess is by imbibing all that is around us, voyeurism such as this is GOOD!!
jay: thanks man!! your comments are so encouraging!!!
I am sure it is your love that makes the plants (too) blossom
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