A young couple struggle to light their sigri in a rain-washed morning as the lapwing flutters around and a dull dog watches halfheartedly. Life chugs on a new course as the sun rises.
Morning Meanderings is a musings column by Dr Santosh Bakaya. Enjoy her jottings with a hot cup of tea. 🙂
A lapwing tweeted its displeasure as I stepped out of the house, half an hour earlier than my usual time and a slothful dog wagged its tail half-heartedly and raised half an eye (the other half still enamoured with the thought of completing the remaining winks). All the other dogs, who greeted me every day with little barks and whelps were not around, maybe they had taken shelter somewhere, may be in little nooks and crannies of the newly constructed building. I walked on slowly, not wanting to disturb the languid lapwing and the dull dog. The ground was wet from last night’s rain and a few raindrops still clung to the trees resiliently. A young couple sat outside their shack, trying to tackle the wet firewood. The man-boy had already put the cauldron on an improvised sigri (makeshift stove) but could not light a fire.
“Raat ko lakdi bahar reh gayi, baarish ka pata nahi tha,” the man-boy said, looking forlornly at me. (We had no idea it would rain, so the firewood got wet in the rain).
A lone pigeon on the telephone wire looked around with an indifferent air. An army of clouds rumbled a triumphant rumble as it once again poured its watery booty on the earth.
I ran for cover under one of the trees lining the road. But the trees stood erect, and beauty came to them where they stood.
“Trees need not walk the earth
for beauty or for bread;
Beauty will come to them
In the rainbow –
The sunlight –
And the lilac- haunted rain. ”
~ David Rosenthal
Beauty had come to the trees, not in ‘lilac-haunted rain’, but in marigold- scented rain as there were no lilacs around.
A child came out of another shack, rubbing his eyes and the moment his eyes fell on the red- wattled lapwing, he forgot everything and ran after it shouting “dekh maa titeeri”. (Mother, look, a lapwing). The flustered lapwing flew towards the Gulmohar tree, and absolutely mesmerized by the red carpet below, started walking on it with dainty, measured steps. A fashionista self- styled.
The neighbourhood woman stood looking at her potted plants, lovingly fingering the African marigold in one of the pots. The rain stopped for some time and I made a dash for home. Near the gate, I turned to look back at the young couple; were they still struggling with the firewood?
They sat there, no longer struggling, but glowing in the light of the fire that crackled merrily in the sigri. Life was good.
More to read in Morning Meanderings
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