The morning air smelled as fresh as it had ever been. The
dark grey clouds hung over the hills in the distance. The trees swayed merrily
in the gentle cool breeze as if heralding another beautiful day. A day to soak
in the divine water showered by the monsoon clouds and perhaps a few hours of
nice tepid sunlight in between. How beautiful and happy the flora seemed.
Probably because they just exist to serve , irrespective of whether it is a Monday
or a weekend.
But for humans like us, well Mondays are just as they
have always and probably will always be. As the clock ticked away the ambience
grew more chaotic. The morning serenity gave way to the horn , bang , din of
early morning traffic. The railway station loomed ominously as i fumbled some
change from my pockets, obviously after having my morning haggle with the
Autowallah who inadvertently had a rigged meter.
Sneaking across the road, dodging the red coloured
jittery bus while trying to locate the IRCTC sms, i somehow (as always) managed
to make my way to the train. Oh, and what a dreadful sight it was. Standing
there in all its filthy glory , while most of the passengers , half asleep and
in a grumbling mood , did their zombie walk to accept the hours of discomfort
that awaited them inside the train.
But all of a sudden, the air become pleasant again like
the meadows of Switzerland were present here radiating the supremely pleasant
fragrances of spring mountain flowers. The dampness of the compartment gave way
to that sunny feeling reminding of those yesteryears spent sprawling on the
green football pitch.
The train started moving, making the outside world a
blur of florescent green. The beauty of Monsoons! The valley was shrouded in
mist but one could hear the distant faint trickle of numerous waterfalls. But somehow,
for a moment, this beauty seemed pale against the one sitting somewhere in the
compartment.
Her dark brown hair fell deftly over her shoulders , as
if trying to escape the eyes of the beholder. The half rimmed spectacles ,
probably bought during her college days , clung on her nose as if by
providence. Her ivory complexion stood out in all its radiance and glory. But
those eyes. What was it about those
eyes. Eyes matching the colour of her hair or maybe not . Is it even possible
to describe something sp delicate and precious ? They seems lost and maybe sad.
And what a revelation that was. A wave of ambivalence
furrowed through my veins as i felt acute pangs of , don’t know what. Not sadness.
Anger , maybe. How can she , a model of beauty and purity be so poignant. Maybe
it was the lesson that the supreme lord wanted , us , mere mortals to learn.
That howsoever perfect we may feel we are , there is always that one thing that
puts us from the top of our personal towers of Babal into the bowels of earth.
The thoughts, a whirlpool of thoughts, were rustling through
my whole being when the dam which was probably holding on for a while broke.
But what came through the Dam were not tears.
She was weeping grace, beauty and joy !
