Connecting the dots…Dotting the connects

The sky was overcast, a light mizzle greeted me as I walked out into the open, wanting to experience moments from my absolutely crazy childhood and teen-hood (sic), to coin a new word, as it were. Breathing in the moisture in the air and waiting for the downpour, I meandered through the streets, reaching the junction that divided the two worlds: the natural from the artificial.

For quite some time, it was just the most pleasant experience, soaking in the whispering sound, as the drops of water kissed the expectant leaves; the fields’ verdant with the first beauteous touch, just a light caress, beckoned me to explore further. And then all too suddenly without any warning, ever so naturally, there was a deluge, an overwhelming, overpowering, downpour and all I did was take it on and in.

Whispers changed to a constant chant, a rhythm that was simultaneously soothing and threatening, a rude reminder of our current plight as a nation and the world at large. As I let the rain pour down on me, oblivious to the sharpness and the stinging sensation it left in my eyes, perhaps the pollution of the times we live in, I was as if in a trance, stupefied, mystified and/or just wondering?

In the din that ensued and as the puddles grew deeper around me, I stopped under a tree for a momentary respite. The light was of a strange quality, almost surreal; a little further, I could see wisps of smoke struggling to survive in the rain. I decided to walk toward the source of smoke, looking for the proverbial fire, thoroughly enjoying the water streaming down my face.

By now, I was sensibly wet, well one would wonder what that is supposed to allude to. Something we often did as kids, wore our mackintoshes with the hood in place as we left home and then just let it slide off as we were out of mom’s ken. Once tucked in around the neck and tightly buttoned up, the oilskins of yore kept your clothes reasonably dry, allowing you the luxury of experiencing the rain in your face, if and when you wanted it: tiny pleasures that last a lifetime.

A smile curled along my lips, as I approached a neat hut, reminding me of the times I had trudged every single day, to a similar rendezvous, a beautiful bamboo hut, with a spotlessly clean and well-manicured front yard, tucked slightly deep in the thickets, on the outskirts of the Army campus in Tezpur.

As I came closer to the hut, in the here and now, the rain had taken a small break and as I breathed easy, a rush of memories drenched me again. Of how I would actually whisk off biscuits and cake from my aunt’s home, threatening the maid that if questioned, to fill up for me and say that I had eaten it all, much to her chagrin. But, actually I would carefully take it for a little boy who lived in the hut with his grandfather, his parents being far away working in the fields, and only visiting occasionally. I knew what I was doing was not entirely correct, but I had stumbled upon him, on one of my little jaunts through the thick woods, that were thankfully safe for little girls to prance around in back then, or in hindsight perhaps we lacked the fear of the unknown and were equally equipped to take on the baddies so to speak, sprinkled as our daily lives, were with stories of courage, valour and philanthropy.  

Language was a problem between us when it came to words, but gestures said it all, when I emptied my kitty into his waiting hands. His big black eyes in an equally dark mahogany face, danced with glee, as I tried to tell him that he must eat it all. He would munch on the goodies, often in front of me and sometimes run away into another tiny chamber in the hut and hide some goodies away for his grandfather and parents.

I was a tad older than him perhaps, but the urge to help, the need to give, was what took me on this secret journey, every single day for several days, as I was spending the summer vacation at my aunt’s place.

Lying was an art I didn’t know much about, haven’t managed to get any closer even today, hence when aunt dear prodded, ticking off the maid for not being careful and quizzing her on how stuff could go missing, out came the truth. Fearing being admonished, I was pleasantly surprised that in fact, I was applauded, for doing a good deed and feted too, with a full cake, baked oven fresh by my aunt for just me and my little friend in the woods.

By now, in the present, I was at the door of the hut, in the fields that were lazing in the aftermath of the rain. I saw an old lady crouched over a fire, brewing something in a pan; the aroma floating in the air didn’t leave much to the imagination, as it was good old Indian tea. She gesticulated that I join her and asked without really looking at me, if were lost, not knowing whether to answer on a philosophical note or literal, I said yes, followed by a quick no, that’s when she looked me in the eye quizzically and I smiled instinctively.

We shared a steaming cup, as she recounted how all the land, as far as the eye could see, belonged to her family. Chattering on, as I nodded sipping the earthy smoked tea, her son and daughter-in- law trailed in from the fields, wet to the core of their beings. She said how they had enough to feed themselves and sold some of the harvest in the market and how the rich, from the artificial world, were nagging them to sell, but she wouldn’t relent.  

We talked with ease, as if we’d known each other forever, strangers we were minutes ago, partaking a cup of tea brought us closer than friends I thought I’d known all my life. Soon her grand kids, two little imps, came home from the nearby school and she said she was keen for them to be educated as they could then decide what was best for them. Wisdom they say can be imparted in the strangest of times and the quirkiest of ways.

I could see the sky opening up and thought of getting back to reality, bidding adieu I clutched the old woman’s hand and said almost choking that she was perhaps the luckiest person in the world. With no more rain to cover the tears in my eyes I walked back a few inches taller and a couple of centimetres wiser.