A short memoir.....
|One cold morning I was on the way to my office in my car, as usual, cursing the traffic. Though my office is pretty near my home I always preferred to use the car because of the pollution (the actual reason is that I hate getting out of my warm cozy bed in cold mornings). In spite of the small distance I felt the journey long and tiring as I plunged into the heavy traffic somehow making my way. Suffocated and smothered in the black smoke my mind wandered to the old school days when I used to walk daily 3 Km in the morning to school.
Whether it was heavy downpour or biting cold or scorching heat I enjoyed every second in that 20 minutes. May be climbing down the 25 steps of the sacred temple daily gave me the extra ounce of energy that I badly needed. The timings of daily morning ritual (Usha Pooja) in the temple matched with that of my walk. The musical hymns playing in the background created an atmosphere of sacred feelings and vibrations which gave a soothing effect to my mind daily. The divine lotus smiling from the temple pond revives even the most depressed soul on earth I believe. The gorgeous breeze under the great old banyan tree (not sure how old it is) and the mystical serenity prevailing the place made me feel incredibly rejuvenated. The stream though small, is so clear, pure and refreshing, that revitalized my spirits in the early hours. The icy water splashing on the pebbles was so tempting that one day I removed my shoes and socks and crossed it barefoot without climbing the bridge. The feeling should be experienced to be understood.
The cheerful voice of the little kids reached me long before I reached the kindergarten gate. Some of them waved to me as they stand near the gate watching the lonely road. Their cheerful voices and innocent faces woke up the child in me as I waved them back with a smile on my face. Cheerfully I walked further as the old uncle smiled at me as usual sitting on the veranda of his small home. To my surprise, a single day has not passed without him cheerfully smiling at me. I walked past the pottery kiln, where the smoke had not died down giving the air the smell of earth. The black walls and the ashes below gave the place a historical look and I was most often reminded of my history classes while passing the enormous clay pot smoker. The arousing aroma of the freshly brewed coffee from the small coffee shop near the school elevated me to my real senses right in time.
Suddenly I realized that I was still in the traffic signal honked by the BMTC buses from behind. I stared at the red light eagerly waiting for it to turn green-the color of the nature; the color of hope!