My mind, lost in a nostalgic introspection, is a kaleidoscope. The succession of changing figures, scenes and phases is my past and myself. Peeping down it, I find a child following the butterflies and birdcalls in the verdure dreamscapes. There is a small boy on a hilltop, who stood in tears, drinking in the aching joys watching a splendid sunset.
Here is a familiar place, resonant with the cries of a band of playmates. What are they doing? Playing hide seek or the cop and thief?Whom do I see in the dark hollows of the briar bushes in the gullies? Are they a bunch of gangsters or the legendary highwaymen? What are these youngsters doing in somebody else’s garden? Why are they moving furtively? I know they are hungry. I find happiness in going down the memory lanes, in sauntering the dim lit alleys of the past, in revisiting places dear, to be with some who have become portraits to decorate walls. Way worn as I am, my soul yearns for the quiet repose at home, where my beloved waits for me, amidst the laughter and grumblings of my children.