I have remained besotted with nature, I have appreciated the rising sun, often empathized with it when it sets, I have seen gold and silver ornamenting the neighborhood when others portend thunder. Those birds chirping early morning sound music to me, the winds often whispered in my ears and we together conspired notes of music at the solitary top of those hills. The rains brought me memories of childhood, of the paper boats that never sailed, of the art of origami that I so much desired but never comprehended. These trees they have stood here for long, they were always the older, caring members of the locality, and so vivid are those evenings when they counseled me through the hedges and rocks.
The evening must have adorned itself with a few more ornaments and I was readily willing to overlook the site of clouds at horizon, the horns of cars and the hurrying trucks took prominence over the solitary song of the somewhat dejected cuckoo, a crow croaked and a cat purred and these were just incomprehensible sounds amidst the hegemony of the human alacrity, which was being blatantly declared from every corner of the road that I had decided to take. The celebratory noise of the human dominion is unique, it goes deep inside the layers of thoughts and occupies strange inflated volumes, the space feels filled with wordless sounds, the floating bubbles in the depths of layers collide and disappear too soon as the sounds inflate. And as the voices grow larger in the inside, the more coaxing they are, the more infatuating they turn. Every time a new sound is heard, a new temptation takes over and the fickleness of desire creates a sense of eternal incompletion and the maddening circle of desiring and achieving starts rolling for yet another loop, captivated by the wordless sound, I enjoy the merry go round knowingexactly where I will stop.
Every time I stop I hate the surrounding, I hate the neighbor, I despise the skyscrapers and the parked car, for their stillness is my stagnation. On such days I briskly stride past the roads or I would recklessly run to chase a bus. On a similar day, last Friday I chased a bus that wheeled to the nearby sea shore. I raced and loved my speed. I was thrilled as the bus left behind the pedestrians, even as there was no way they would overtake me, I prized myself breezing past them on the window seat of the comfortable city bus.
I ran to the shore, the waves raced to me. It was a minor accident of sorts, nothing was damaged, I claimed no compensation, and none of us was on the wrong lane. I was wet and the waves scattered between my legs, no words were exchanged, the waves moved past me and through me. In their marvelous whites shining against the sun, in the perfection of their built the waves diligently continued with their duty. The sensational energy, the overpowering wind seemed to have decided to take over, the boats pedaled and jetted to and fro before me, the sun glowing on the water like the expensive gold, the nature had come together and had contrived to satiate my desires to be feed with extravagance. The wind went stronger, the ocean bright gold and all the power and all the expenses lay before me in all their glory. Subtly undermining a lot that is revered, questioning the madness of desires and proposing the answers. As the sun gracefully shelters itself into the warm water of the sea, indifferent of its glory, unconcerned with the dampness of its place of night stay, I could see its content smile rising over the water. The waves of the ocean cheerfully roared on the shore and once the roaring subsided they were singing a sweet melody of reunion.
For the next half an hour I was on the sand, not moving much, not thinking either, prisoned by the steady transition as the moon takes over the duties from the sun. The nature continued its display of luxury. I was moving in a spiral, a journey in which the self moved from the larger circle to the smaller, as the journey continued the circles got smaller. From the horizon to the fisherman on his boat and from him to the large waves close to the shore, by the time the stars were immaculately displayed on the dark blue my spirals were moving within me, focusing on the body and then the body and the mind and for a fleeting moment it was just my heart that existed for me.
The hours were late already, it was time to return, and the beach had steadily gone solitary. I felt unsafe and alone and decided walk back, with measured steps and a relaxed gait I walked along the shore, the brown sand of the day had gone darker and the dark water sparkled at places. That perpetual love is reestablished, not a word was spoken, and not a word shall be said ever again. Yet these phases of triviality towards love shall recur regularly and every time a dawn, adusk or even the scorching afternoon sun shall outdo those infatuating loops of the merry go round.
