An Evening Walk

For those who wish to see a cheerful fun filled post this may not sound inviting. You may wish to stay back. I have tried my hand once again at a senti post. Once you finish reading this post, in all likelihood, you will get a feeling of watching a Cheran’s film. Cheran is one director turned actor who produces and directs emotion packed films set up against the backdrop of a village with the plot revolving around its cultural milieu. The hero himself weeps for the most part in those films. A kerchief or two may come to your rescue. Though I belong to the fortunate lot who missed those films, I can still assure you that this is of the same genre. There is nothing special about this post-this is just run of the mill.

It was the day after I bid adieu to the University exams. For the past one month I was stuck in the thick of it and its all over now. It left me listless. I just sat around the whole day doing nothing constructive. It was a wilful and deliberate seclusion from the demands of the competitive world. I decided to take a few hours off from my laptop, a break from the excitement of Google-Orkut-Facebook, from the obsession of the virtual world and meet the real world. With no enticing options before me, I decided to take a long walk to rejuvenate myself and regain my lost temperament. A walk away from the cacophony of everyday life. A walk without caring a whit on what next.

When I stepped from my home I was completely clueless as to where to go. I walked in a slower pace which is rather an unusual thing. I walked to engage my senses and just breathe in the fresh evening air. It was raining all through the day. I felt the fresh wind blowing across my face. It was relaxing and rejuvenating to walk across the road less traveled. I could feel the tranquillity and privacy which deeply reflected my mood. I embraced the solitude as I walked past the road and it reminded me of the poem by Robert Frost

“But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep”

I then walked through the streets where I spent the most part of my childhood. I engaged myself in unforgettable experiences. I walked past the tanned buildings standing erect for over a decade losing all its architectural beauty. I have seen them grow storey by storey. Those buildings have stood the test of time. Now it looked like the few old buildings shown in the Paint advertisements. I walked past the house where I lived. I remembered my little mischievous adventures. I remembered how I used to gloat over my victory by calling the flower vendor from behind him and escape the scene when he turns back. I remembered how I used to climb up through the windows to get the scale (my mother’s tool to lick me into shape) from loft and break it into pieces as a defence. I looked at the street whose length I used to measure by running to and fro holding my friend’s hand. I felt the dormant child in me raising its head. I wondered how melancholy struck me down the lane as I grew up. The Power of Time. This lady, now sans all the vigour, boldness and liveliness which was once vibrant.

I returned home with some good memories. Back to the place to get glued to the net once again. Back to find my forte, to play my part where I have the liberty of designing it, to raise my game, to face the reality. I know that I am too young to verbalize on the passage of Time for I have not reached the evening of my life yet. I don’t know what prompted me to scribble these. May be the song of Enya “Who can say where the road goes, Where the day flows, only time?” which I was hearing since morning brought out the Cheran in me.

Hope to be back with a cheerful post!