Tiny Escapes

(Illustration by: Stephen Darbyshire)

It was around 5:00 p.m. on a Saturday, last sunrays of the day were glistening through my window, and suddenly, an evening breeze brushed against my cheek. Isn't it funny how mysteriously the human brain works? How a forsaken breeze takes you back in time to a memory so bleak and arbitrary and yet comforting?

A few years back, on evenings like these, I used to grab my hot cup of coffee and walk into the garden instinctively. It had always been like this, ever since I remember. The air was filled with a faint fragrance of mango blossoms. The tiny mango saplings that my grandmother planted had grown with me. Their enormous green foliage was now a bustling town square for birds and squirrels. Sometimes, they made me realize how much I've grown. Fruit trees of different ages and sizes surrounded the periphery, and right at the center of the garden stood the majestic 'Ambuda' tree. My grandpa had got it with him when he first arrived in Maharashtra 72 years ago from Karnataka. He always said it reminded him of his childhood home. Now, it reminds me of mine.

There are a lot of happy memories here. This is where I first learnt to cycle; I vividly remember finding my first snail under the mossy cornerstone at the age of 8, and then there was the day my sister and I ran for our lives after spotting a black Cobra sunbathing on the stack of red bricks. As my eyes wander, I spot the young Gulmohar tree in the far right corner, and tied to its stiff branches is the swing my dad made for me. It's just a black rubber tyre firmly tied with ropes, but it's fun, nevertheless. A dense patch of my favourite flowers is next to it: the 'Rain Lilies.' Throughout the year, they are just a patch of slender leaves, but during the 4 months of monsoon, hundreds of pleasing pink flowers spring up as if they had never left. It's mesmerizing. I slowly start walking towards the swing. My bare feet tickle as they touch the grass, and the wet mud sticks to my toes, but I don't care; I never have. This is my small garden of Eden.

Now that I have moved out and home is 905 kilometers away, all I can do is reminisce about the good old days with a smile on my face. It's been about 5 months since I moved to Karnataka. I have yet to spot any 'Ambuda' trees, but the 'Neeru kaayi' trees are in full bloom, flaunting their crimson canopies over the buzzing streets of S.G. Palya, making life easier. After all, life isn't about what you have; it is about what you are given and what you make out of it. I want to make the best out of Bangalore. A friend once told me that no matter where you come from, this city has a place for you. I think it is true. After all, I only feel the breeze on days when I miss home.

Nevertheless, it is on evenings like this that I tell myself, the same breeze wanders its way and finds itself in Lonavala; it is the same night sky that surrounds me and everyone I love. Slowly I am learning to love this city as I become a part of it. Bit by bit, I am forming new traditions and relations. It took me 5 months, but I think this place and its people have started to feel like home now. Someday, years from now, the forsaken breeze will remind me of my time here.