You are not going to believe even one single word of this story, I know but whatever I wrote here is true as Sun and Earth.
The house, which I am going to mention in this piece, is near my house, very near. My place is a village where good contractors had built perfect roads and bad political parties have pasted very ugly posters, each shouting and screaming its own megalomania. The time which I am going to mention in this story is a time when I was sitting idle and watching the universe around me like an age old, wise philosopher. I used to watch the garden in front of my house, the coconut trees out there, and the birds flying here and there and I used to sit there with a half filled tea glass.
My village is famous for' intellectual nobodies'. I really don't know what could be the exact reason for this kind of a behavioral pattern in the people of my village but I believe that there was a mysterious role for the air of my village in that. For example, if a most practical, cunning businessman enters my village, I promise you, within 5 months he will be a drowsy existentialist. Yes, the place is like that; there is a magic in it but you have to experience it to believe and understand it. As same as it happened to everyone, it made me a drowsy intellectual who knows a lot but never got a chance to put that knowledge in use.
The time, as I mentioned earlier is a little far ago. may be a 4 years or 5 years ago....I used to listen to music of a r rahman [old Tamil songs] and used to take a walk at evening 4 o clock before my Amma returns to home from school. My village stood ‘still’, as beautiful as ever, with the golden light of the evening. Then I heard a strange person listening to music, some old English song. His house is a little far from my house. [Now I remember clearly, what I wrote earlier was wrong. It was not near my house, okay I remember]
He was sitting there with a cigarette, in hand, sipping tea from his glass. He wore a lungi and cotton shirt. They were wrinkled . He was looking into eternity; and whenever I say ‘eternity’, you should take it as ‘the point in sky which is blocked and distorted by some tree tops in a very aesthetic way. He sat there with an enlightened look on his face. I heard that he was returned from a foreign country, leaving a very good job. Why...? I will tell you why, he came to settle down in my village. Yes, to settle down in the magical and drowsy village of mine. He has a nice collection of 70's and 80's English music, in tapes [cassettes] and you won't believe if I tell that they still play without any problem but that is the truth.
I used to walk up to the corner where that tiny and very clam Co-operative bank exists. When I reach there, I used to have a feeling that tells me ' enough, you had a nice time, now go back'. I used to listen to my heart and I used to go back to home. Sometimes when I return, I may meet my amma and we both walk together to our home.Even when I remember it now , my memories tell me that I had a life which was very beautiful. The innocence of My beautiful green place. I pray to Tao or whatever super power of life force to keep it like that even though I know that the change is the only thing that doesn’t change.
When I fly like an eagle, I can see my present city in the most top angle and I realized that this city belongs to corporates while my village belonged to human beings
-Oh Lost track of what has to be recorded- the peculiar intellectual who sat there with his tea. He never used to be in the same place when I return to home. He would be vanished and I never was able to hear the music from the opened window when I return.
P.S : This is the magic of my drowsy village. It will make you forget what you want to do. It will put you into 'Lake side' of 'Drums on Fire' , to white lotus...All the best
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