Scribbling:
Tragedy of wanderer:
“Waking up to sound of rain drops falling in the balcony, as he looked out of window and smell of damp soi,l fresh leafs filled his lungs. Somehow today it reminded him of his village house where he spent his childhood. An old style house made by his grandfather whose first floor had smaller windows and wooden flooring, and in every rain there was this damp smell of wet woods, surprisingly similar to what he felt today standing in the balcony (though these were coming from the designer gardens of neighbourhood) he remember spending key moments standing there, especially in rains, as fields around got soaked and flooded, he awaited for rain to stop to go out and watch those fishes come out and play, about whom his village friends told him with lot of authority, ‘they are fishes that stays inside ground and comes out when it floods here, sometime they even comes from sky.’ it used to fill him with a kind of excitement and he used to look above and down wondering if any of this were true or they were fooling him, but frankly what did he care, it was more fun to watch those fishes play.
Alas! Being away, having lost that house, a thought comes in mind, what prices we pay for growing up and what does it bring? Nothing, but memories.”
~ Praveen Parasar
Tragedy of wanderer:
“Waking up to sound of rain drops falling in the balcony, as he looked out of window and smell of damp soi,l fresh leafs filled his lungs. Somehow today it reminded him of his village house where he spent his childhood. An old style house made by his grandfather whose first floor had smaller windows and wooden flooring, and in every rain there was this damp smell of wet woods, surprisingly similar to what he felt today standing in the balcony (though these were coming from the designer gardens of neighbourhood) he remember spending key moments standing there, especially in rains, as fields around got soaked and flooded, he awaited for rain to stop to go out and watch those fishes come out and play, about whom his village friends told him with lot of authority, ‘they are fishes that stays inside ground and comes out when it floods here, sometime they even comes from sky.’ it used to fill him with a kind of excitement and he used to look above and down wondering if any of this were true or they were fooling him, but frankly what did he care, it was more fun to watch those fishes play.
Alas! Being away, having lost that house, a thought comes in mind, what prices we pay for growing up and what does it bring? Nothing, but memories.”
~ Praveen Parasar
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