Last night I had a dream.
It is a splendid sunny morning. I am visiting my school.
In my dream the garden around my school seemed an endless stretch of green dotted with colourful flowers and bathed abundantly in the morning sun.
There was someone accompanying me, and in my dream I thought it was my brother.
I found a lovely patch to sit and asked my companion to take a picture of me.
But by the time I made myself comfortable and ready to be photographed, my companion was nowhere to be found.
On waking up, I wish my companion in the dream had waited a bit and obliged me by taking that picture.
Me sitting amidst all those colours shining in the glorious rays of the sun.
It would have been the best picture of my life.
But as I think more and more about the dream I am convinced that the companion whose presence I felt in this dream was my "bachpan", my childhood, who I cannot catch in a single frame.
It is an experience that never leaves you.
It continues to come back.
To hold us, to love us, to refresh us.
At times, it makes us smile through tears.
Like it did today.
Last month (December that is) was my mother's first death anniversary, earlier this month was my father's eighth death anniversary.
And day before yesterday (24th January) my mother's only brother breathed his last.
Absolutely overwhelmed with nostalgia, and spending time with family on Facebook and WhatsApp, reliving some of the most endearing moments, this morning I got a heart touching and enriching gift in an e mail from a valued and long time friend.
Four black and white pictures of the most colourful times of our life.
It is a splendid sunny morning. I am visiting my school.
In my dream the garden around my school seemed an endless stretch of green dotted with colourful flowers and bathed abundantly in the morning sun.
There was someone accompanying me, and in my dream I thought it was my brother.
I found a lovely patch to sit and asked my companion to take a picture of me.
But by the time I made myself comfortable and ready to be photographed, my companion was nowhere to be found.
On waking up, I wish my companion in the dream had waited a bit and obliged me by taking that picture.
Me sitting amidst all those colours shining in the glorious rays of the sun.
It would have been the best picture of my life.
But as I think more and more about the dream I am convinced that the companion whose presence I felt in this dream was my "bachpan", my childhood, who I cannot catch in a single frame.
It is an experience that never leaves you.
It continues to come back.
To hold us, to love us, to refresh us.
At times, it makes us smile through tears.
Like it did today.
Last month (December that is) was my mother's first death anniversary, earlier this month was my father's eighth death anniversary.
And day before yesterday (24th January) my mother's only brother breathed his last.
Absolutely overwhelmed with nostalgia, and spending time with family on Facebook and WhatsApp, reliving some of the most endearing moments, this morning I got a heart touching and enriching gift in an e mail from a valued and long time friend.
Four black and white pictures of the most colourful times of our life.
