Monday, May 15, 2006

Back to Nature

The weather was hot and dry. Oppressive. Opened all doors and windows to coax some air circulation. But in vain. It didn't help matters that I had pizzas and garlic bread for dinner. So, I decided on a post prandial stroll inside our complex. A slow lethargic amble would be a better description. The ground below was hard and hot. After just a few minutes later, I was ready to crawl back to the air conditioned comfort of my bedroom.

On a sudden impulse, I kicked off my slippers and stepped onto a strip of lawn. The slightly moist, springy grass beaneath my feet had a miraculous reviving effect on me. Now I understand why people loll around, at all hours, oblivious to the heat.

I sat on the grass and enjoyed "connecting" with Mother Nature. It was only at 11pm I reluctantly went back but only after A came to see if I was stuck inside an elevator.

I did a quick calculation and figured out that the last time I walked barefoot on a grassy lawn was probably in Assam, which I left some 25 years ago.

I was half angry, half saddened with myself and my life. In the mad whirl of life caught between home and work, I had no time for simple pleasures of walking in the rain, smelling flowers, walking barefoot on the grass. A lot of it was not entirely my doing. Kuwait was just sand. Calcutta - mostly smog.

But what about now? I have been here for nearly a year and a half.
How could I have not made more of it?

Mother nature too must have noticed my ignoring her. She has come back with a vengeance and how. Just as I was getting over my fear of the terrible earthquake of 8th October, she gave a gentle nudge once again last Sunday. It felt like some one had gently lifted the chair I was sitting on and set it back. I did panic wildly, if only for half an hour and made a mental note to look for a house closer to the ground floor.

And then, we have been having the most awful dust storms (almost like a desert storm) and last night, there was a terrific thunderstorm at around midnight. Wild flashes of lightening, the windows all a rattle. I thought they would shatter. And water pouring in through every crack and gap. I spent better part of the storm plugging holes with whatever I could find in the laundry basket.

Nature is all around, in every nook and cranny, but not quite how I imagined it would be!

Wednesday, May 10, 2006

Gold Blossoms

The heat is unbearable. Oppressive and dry. Out of the blue, a storm arrives. All the window panes rattle. The wind searing the skin of those foolish enough or compelled to be outdoors. Windows rattle. Dust seeps in through cracks and under doors and covers everything in dust. Visibility is reduced to a few metres or less.
Everyone who can is indoors. Those outdoors look barely human. Turned zombie like. I wonder if I am where I am, in Gurgaon or in some desert. Could well be but for the trees. How they blossom. Yellow, getting progressively brighter till almost golden. Baby green leaves peep out here and there. How is it possible. God alone knows. Such a sight for sore eyes.

Saturday, May 06, 2006

Run Buddhia Run

On Tuesday 5th of May, 2006, Buddhia ran 65 kms from Puri to Bhubaneswar in 7.02 hours. All the news channels were full of Buddhia and with reason. He is four and a half years old.

When his father, a beggar, died, his mother sold him for 800 Rupees to a hawker. But he was rescued by his coach. He runs 50kms twice daily. And has run from Bhubaneswar to Puri more than once before. The CRPF who sponsored this last run, wants to adopt him.

He is the new “wonder child”. Now, which bit of this statement should I wonder at? That 4 year old Buddhia ran from Puri to Bhubaneswar? Or that it took him only 7.02 hours? Or he ran in the blistering summer heat of Orissa? Or that he is the youngest marathon runner in the world? Or that he made it to the Limca book of records? Or at all of these put together?

I am sure his coach is taking good care of him. But to me, childhood (and Buddhia is a child) is for other things. He probably is made of sterner stuff. But having seen the talent in him, he should be given a chance at a normal paced childhood, keeping the training for an age more acceptable. Four and a half means he is not in Class I.

I am wondering. But not in awe. I am wondering at the sadness of it all.

Read if you will

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