August is green, and the heart is now a lush garden, where even the frogs and the grasshoppers smile at you, only if you stop to notice their joy.
Enjoy Morning Meanderings with a hot cup of tea or coffee and some cookies to munch on the food for thought. 😊 ☕️
The nimbus clouds were once again cannoning and colliding against each other with all the rainy mirth in their rain-bloated bellies.
“Kabaadi vala, kabaadi vala.”
The raddivala was shouting with a new energy on a new day of a new month, the fresh, rejuvenating breeze having put a spring in his gait and a song on his lips. Today he did not bellow, but belted out ‘raddi vala, aa gaya, aa gaya rey aa ga ya ‘with a certain lyrical cadence which was almost soothing to the ears. What changes the changing weather can create in people’s body language, it was really intriguing to notice.
With the dawning of the new month, the tea vendor had now become a kachori seller too. When I reached the kiosk, he appeared to be doing brisk business frying kachoris, the laborers gobbling one kachori after another, and licking their fingers, with an exemplary focus. His wife served tea deftly to the labourers, smiling away. I was appalled to see some labourers pouring the chutney from the donas straight into their gullets.
“Madam, aap bhi ek kachori khao,” he said, quickly tearing a piece of newspaper from the heap of newspapers lying in his cart.
“Array nahin, subah subah!” I protested, half-heartedly.
“Take them home,” he insisted, quickly packing two kachoris in a piece of yesterday’s newspaper.
So, holding on to a chunk of yesterday’s negativities, I walked on, mulling over today’s positivities, but stopped in my tracks as I saw a stout frog looking balefully at me. From somewhere, Hilaire Belloc whispered,
Be kind and tender to the Frog,
And do not call him names,
As ‘Slimy skin’ or ‘Polly-wog,’
Or likewise ‘Ugly James’,
or ‘Gap – a grin’ or ‘Toad- gone- wrong’
Or ‘Billy Bandy- Knees’
The Frog is justly sensitive
To epithets like these.
Why should I feel guilty? I was not calling the frog names, not at all, except of course calling the frog, a frog. Had I called it by some other name, would it have smelt as sweet? Was the frog empowered with psychic powers? It hopped away, almost hurling a lopsided smile my way. [Or so I thought] This is what positive imaging does, you know.
Main zindagi kaa saath nibha chalaata Gaya
Har fikra ko dhuvaeny mai udhata chala gaya
[I have taken life in its stride
blowing away every worry with the smoke]
I whirled back, when the notes of this song fell into my ears.
Who was it singing this song from Hum Dono so beautifully? I was happily amazed to see that it was the security guard-turned-labourer-turned-tea vendor-turned kachori seller, who was singing it so soulfully. The man who, just a few days back had presented a pathetic picture when he had lost his job, and broken his back, was now a different person altogether. This made me burst into song too, as I headed home. The moment I stepped on to the stairs, I was welcomed by a fistful of green on the threshold of my home.
August was green, and my heart was now a lush garden, where I could feel tall trees and sunflowers swaying to the notes of my happily pulsating heart.
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