Tuesday, 20 February 2018

The Faraway Tree

Neem: Azadirachta indica


Is a year too long between blog posts?

Maybe I am developing, inadvertently, a yearly ritual where I take a pilgrimage of sorts, into the past. A homage to nostalgia, maybe.I have always been a sucker for romance.

Or it could the perpetual grey outside my window, dressed in droplets left behind by a listless drizzle. In the olde country we call it rain. Or maybe it is the guilt of not doing enough  as I work from home.

Home.

Of late I have been dwelling on that word. Of late being all my life. Home has been so many places, so many people. Some existing now only in my memories. I am home too, to my little boy and his father. I am still not brave enough to offer them a similar burden. Is courage I lack or Trust? Either way, I am not ready, yet.

For now, I will settle to calling our brick house in this grey city, home.  It's cozy, gets enough sunlight, it is littered with toys, plants and giggles;  it's where my son is making his own memories...taking steady steps (OK leaps) into his future.

But every now and then, the heart beats to a different rhythm. The one that beats far away, in another grey city, with its loud noises, and louder horns, dulled in the cradle of green and squat concrete that my grandfather built under the shade of the neem he planted.

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