The beginnings..

It’s been a while since I had put anything new in here. The problem, as always, was time. This time though, it was not the lack of it.

I am home finally, and am spending my days sitting lazy, swimming in time. I know the statement might confuse those who know me as I do the same every other day and the days in between-whether I am home or anywhere else. The difference is, now, it just feels plain nice. I spend my day re-reading old books, re-watching the seen-films, re-thinking my old thoughts and re-doing things that I used to do as a kid (You know there’s always that convertible-corner that was your own private office-cum-bedroom- cum-kitchen-cum-car-cum-spaceship. Also there’s the wall that used to be your consistent opponent in the games you are yet to invent a name for).

I was, for a long time now, longing for such a homecoming. For those who don’t know much about my existence, home for me is a greeeen strip of land in a small village called Perumudiyur in central Kerala. Long time back, when I was still kid enough to shy away from lady nurses and bathing soaps, this place meant for me, the world itself, as viewed by the most inquisitive pair of eyes in the whole district of Palakkad, from a high enough level of four feet from the ground. It had everything and everyone that I needed. A huge old house, three and a half acres full of gallant trees with grass taller than me and under them, snakes, mosquitoes, snails and flowers; paddy fields in front of the house and a streamlet flowing through them, grandmother, her retarded brother (I am yet to find a friend so true) and a karyasthan who used to look after the cultivation and oversee both my spare time and the laborers. A world so wonderful, responsive, right and feudalist enough for a young boy to grow up and belong.

The place today, is only a pattern of reminders of olden times. A lot of things have changed. Corners have been straightened, walls brought down, people and conversations, buried.
But even then, not even once was this place unable of making that odd beat of my heart forget its turn when I entered its gates. That lump in my throat has never failed to choke me every time I walked to the place my grandmother is buried.I have felt lost each time I took a walk between the trees still managing to stand. I am so glad to be back here. I had once written to a friend of mine about how this place peels off everything that I’ve managed to gather in and around me for years and leaves me with just those memories that this place has given me.

If there is anything that would be of your interest among all this nothingness around me, I swear I’ll fight my laziness to keep you posted about it.