Haunting Remembrances - Chapter II
A DIFFERENT SUN
As I dallied in that distant time, unconscious of present time passing me by, reveling in the uncountable pleasures of my dear old Shillong, where Fancy and Remembrance sweetly contrived to detain me, I was presently snapped out of my reverie by a mild sting on my back. Looking back I saw that it was the sun, looking in my tinted window, putting on a fierce glare as if trying to burn the window down and get at me. It looked to be scorning my cowardice for seeking refuge in my air conditioned room. I could well see what effect its all-pervasive presence was having on the world outside, its light blinding, bouncing angrily off walls, pavements and streets. It's diurnal journey was still at its incipient stage, yet everything it looked upon was sweltering in its fury already. Railings and door knobs singed the hands that touched them. Water flowing out of faucets and stored in tanks was too hot to touch. Whatever vestige of leaves, flowers and grass remained unwithered in that harsh glare stood gloomily in their solitary pots and sequestered lawns with their heads drooped and colors faded. Birds and cats and dogs took whatever refuge they could find in the hot shade of oppressed trees and bushes. The wind breathed fire and dust, tormenting the hapless plants even further, and blanketing the leaves and flowers in a veil of brown. The sky was shorn of its pristine blue as it blazed in the white hot light of its virulent mistress, who traipsed in state across the firmament in a slow, punishing glide.
Whenever I see the elements of Nature in such a disagreeable mood, I cannot but hark back to a scene once so familiar and now so unreal. The scene of a small valley in the wooded hills of Shillong, where the grass grew thick and large, and the trees overshadowed the earth; where the light was benign and the air gentle; the waters clear and the habitats quaint and cozy. In one corner of that valley, surrounded by nashpati trees, plum trees and high hedges on three sides and a rising hillside on the fourth, stood my first home, which was more home to me than any place has ever been since. It was on the steps of that home I remember sitting oftimes of a morning, waiting to feel the warmth of the sun on my back. I remember my mother spreading out everything that would have benefited from that kindly light and warmth out on that small verandah and on those black wooden railings. The sun would at long last peep out from behind a thick cloud or rise up from behind the road atop the hill, only to hide again mischievously behind a passing cloud or a tree or a hill, all of which jostled for space in the small piece of heavenly blue above our neighborhood in Laban. Whenever it did appear during its brief daily dalliance with the Shillong landscape, it won the hearts of one and all with its benevolence and amiability. It lit up the gloomiest hamlet in colors that cheer; the tickle of its first rays lit many a newborn's face with a smile. It livened up the ruddy plums and succulent nashpatis in the trees; it reddened the more the red rooftops and brightened the more the colors on the beams and walls of the quaint houses on the hillside. The birds were all agog with excitement as they sang sweetly, and the dogs came out on the street with tails wagging vigorously and tongues lolling happily. The waters of the gushing beck sparkled the more in the company of our winsome friend, as it gurgled melodiously over the mossy rocks. Even the air seemed affected by the effusive glow bestowed upon the neighborhood by this heavenly cherub, and blew with a pleasing waft, just enough to wake up the slumbering leaves and grass and the bees and the butterflies to the beautiful morning. This also brings to my remembrance the shrill voice of a kong emanating from one of the picturesque houses and shacks on the hillside which echoed through the morning air as she called out "Ayy Lloong". Who exactly was "Lloong" is not very clear in my mind, nor was it then, but the beautiful sunny morning along with that high pitched call always set the tone for the day ahead.
Breaking out of my reflective state, I look at the sun at the height of its journey across the broad, cloudless sky, and wonder. Is this the same sun? That same shy child who crept behind a cloud or some overspreading foliage or a hill at the first available opportunity? The same smiling face who looked upon us with such kindness every day? It must be the same, as science would insist, but it feels just so incredible.
Oh! What would I not give to live just one of those roseate mornings again, in that splendorous neighborhood with the sun, the wind, the trees, the hills, and my sweet old home
TO BE CONTINUED....
As I dallied in that distant time, unconscious of present time passing me by, reveling in the uncountable pleasures of my dear old Shillong, where Fancy and Remembrance sweetly contrived to detain me, I was presently snapped out of my reverie by a mild sting on my back. Looking back I saw that it was the sun, looking in my tinted window, putting on a fierce glare as if trying to burn the window down and get at me. It looked to be scorning my cowardice for seeking refuge in my air conditioned room. I could well see what effect its all-pervasive presence was having on the world outside, its light blinding, bouncing angrily off walls, pavements and streets. It's diurnal journey was still at its incipient stage, yet everything it looked upon was sweltering in its fury already. Railings and door knobs singed the hands that touched them. Water flowing out of faucets and stored in tanks was too hot to touch. Whatever vestige of leaves, flowers and grass remained unwithered in that harsh glare stood gloomily in their solitary pots and sequestered lawns with their heads drooped and colors faded. Birds and cats and dogs took whatever refuge they could find in the hot shade of oppressed trees and bushes. The wind breathed fire and dust, tormenting the hapless plants even further, and blanketing the leaves and flowers in a veil of brown. The sky was shorn of its pristine blue as it blazed in the white hot light of its virulent mistress, who traipsed in state across the firmament in a slow, punishing glide.
Whenever I see the elements of Nature in such a disagreeable mood, I cannot but hark back to a scene once so familiar and now so unreal. The scene of a small valley in the wooded hills of Shillong, where the grass grew thick and large, and the trees overshadowed the earth; where the light was benign and the air gentle; the waters clear and the habitats quaint and cozy. In one corner of that valley, surrounded by nashpati trees, plum trees and high hedges on three sides and a rising hillside on the fourth, stood my first home, which was more home to me than any place has ever been since. It was on the steps of that home I remember sitting oftimes of a morning, waiting to feel the warmth of the sun on my back. I remember my mother spreading out everything that would have benefited from that kindly light and warmth out on that small verandah and on those black wooden railings. The sun would at long last peep out from behind a thick cloud or rise up from behind the road atop the hill, only to hide again mischievously behind a passing cloud or a tree or a hill, all of which jostled for space in the small piece of heavenly blue above our neighborhood in Laban. Whenever it did appear during its brief daily dalliance with the Shillong landscape, it won the hearts of one and all with its benevolence and amiability. It lit up the gloomiest hamlet in colors that cheer; the tickle of its first rays lit many a newborn's face with a smile. It livened up the ruddy plums and succulent nashpatis in the trees; it reddened the more the red rooftops and brightened the more the colors on the beams and walls of the quaint houses on the hillside. The birds were all agog with excitement as they sang sweetly, and the dogs came out on the street with tails wagging vigorously and tongues lolling happily. The waters of the gushing beck sparkled the more in the company of our winsome friend, as it gurgled melodiously over the mossy rocks. Even the air seemed affected by the effusive glow bestowed upon the neighborhood by this heavenly cherub, and blew with a pleasing waft, just enough to wake up the slumbering leaves and grass and the bees and the butterflies to the beautiful morning. This also brings to my remembrance the shrill voice of a kong emanating from one of the picturesque houses and shacks on the hillside which echoed through the morning air as she called out "Ayy Lloong". Who exactly was "Lloong" is not very clear in my mind, nor was it then, but the beautiful sunny morning along with that high pitched call always set the tone for the day ahead.
Breaking out of my reflective state, I look at the sun at the height of its journey across the broad, cloudless sky, and wonder. Is this the same sun? That same shy child who crept behind a cloud or some overspreading foliage or a hill at the first available opportunity? The same smiling face who looked upon us with such kindness every day? It must be the same, as science would insist, but it feels just so incredible.
Oh! What would I not give to live just one of those roseate mornings again, in that splendorous neighborhood with the sun, the wind, the trees, the hills, and my sweet old home
TO BE CONTINUED....
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