The Same Me

November 3, 2010 at 9:15 AMNov (Activism, Friends, Literature, Musings, Poetry, Slice Of Life, Soliloquy)

I took a window seat in the bus which was to take me to Byndoor, my grandparents place. I was going there after a year or so. In the past three years I visited my grandparents only twice. I was excited, I was happy. Recollecting my memories of my short meeting with Arundathi Roy that day I took out the book that I purchased outside the hall where the seminar ‘media and communalism’ took place. It was a Kannada translation of the autobiography of the Chile poet Pablo Neruda (Translated by Nayana Kaashyap).

I went through the introduction written by G.Rajshekhar and took a break. I looked outside the window. It was getting dark. The moon was getting bright. My memories of going to Byndoor every now and then, during my childhood, with my mother came back to me.

I used to go with my mother and my sister to Byndoor. Usually we used to take an evening bus and go to Byndoor. Halfway through it used to get dark and the moon used to lit its torch. My mother, who is a primary school teacher, then used to sing to us (me and my sister) some children songs related to moon. A moon used to turn into different images in different songs. After a while my sister and I also used to pick up the song and sing along. I used to admire the reflection of the moon in the various rivers that we used to pass. Sister and I used to play hide and seek with the moon as the bus moved and the passing trees, at times, covered the moon from our sight. My sister used to tell me that moon appears like a chapatti to her and she cannot see any rabbit in it. I used to argue saying that I could see rabbit in the moon. Thus with songs, games and arguments we used to reach Byndoor.

I grew and so did my sister. We were capable of going to Byndoor all by ourselves. Going by ourselves was a matter of pride to us for it reflected our independence. We used to go without mother and only once in a while but still used to take evening bus itself. Our admiration for moon had disappeared it had become ‘kiddish’ to us. Our discussion over moon appeared ‘silly’ to us. We used to take the window seat and admire all the houses and buildings that passed. Their glamour would be our discussion. I used to tell my sister how the house that I construct would look like and so used to tell my sister dream stories of her house. Thus we used to reach Byndoor.

The wheels of time moved ahead and today I have completed my post graduation and few days ago I was traveling to Byndoor, in an evening bus, all alone, sitting next to the window. It dint occur to me that the moon had come out I dint even realize that many a houses and buildings that I used to admire once upon a time had passed by already. I was busy reading the autobiography of one of favorite poet Pablo Neruda.

I received a message from my friend Anisha Seth. I badly wanted to discuss what I had read until then with someone but no one was with me so I decided to call Anisha and discuss. As I kept talking to her I looked outside the window….. I had reached Byndoor.

I was welcomed by my grandparents like always… I am the ‘SAME’ grandson after all!

19  May 2007

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