The skies decided to pour their heart out that night. They need venting too. I sat in my balcony looking at raindrops sieving through the leaves of the giant mango tree that stood in front of my house. Some frustrated driver was honking relentlessly somewhere while someone else was in the mood for some Chopin that night. A distant memory was remolding itself in a corner of my heart. Some memories have a strange way of appearing. Before they come, their arrival is announced by a distinct stirring up of the heart strings which leaves you unsettled but also looking forward in anticipation to that which is going to arrive. I await the arrival of that which will come with a sense of foreboding as well as propitiousness. And it trickled in like the raindrops falling through the leaves of the mango tree slowly welling me with profundity of emotions that are ever so required for a parched soul.
It was another night like this though in a different space and time dimension. Everything looks the same though nothing is the same. I know the people in it but how realities have changed since. How the essence of one's being undergoes a metamorphosis of the kind that could never have been anticipated by the wildest of minds. The Kafkaesqueness of it baffles the mind. Delving into reasons seems all too redundant now. The reality of this having happened is what remains. Although things look the same overtly but hidden from the view is a distortion that only sensitive hearts can see. A forlorn gust shakes my bearings. I look for anchor everywhere around me. What can I hold on to in order to keep myself steadfast on the ground beneath me? Nothing seems strong enough for that. Just then a small hand creeps in. I hold on to it with all my might. I have found my anchor in this tiny little hand with its tiny little fingers wrapped around me secure and tight. I get welled up again. This time with gratitude and happiness unbound.
