Into The Past

On that lazy summer afternoon of a Sunday

Adrift in a sea of random events submerged, or

Floating in a nook; the middle-aged copy writer with a

Mumbai ad firm, aided by Mneme worshipped

On Mount Helicon in days long gone by, returns

To the big-format 70s: loud, colourful, fun and enchanting.

The bald and paunchy man re-lives the holidays of early childhood

In the sepia-tinted village, bordering a deep forest, full of mysteries.

A time of the year

When he sang and danced in the fields, swung from the mango trees

Slept on the roof at their paternal grandpa’s place, each moment

A celebration of communal life, with cousins, uncles, aunts; eating oily food cooked on the

Open fires by the women of the big house; swim in the river with the

Big boys of the village, his friends now, and hear tales rivetting

Told by the great grandmother, one-eyed; each evening,

A new tale of valour and sacrifice, opening up lands unique

Time travelling to those misty days beyond the grasp

Of any temporal autocrat, on the wings of a salvaging mind, in the

Flush of creative unspooling of moments, vanished---still a sheer delight!

Now, nothing remains

Except for the dilapidated house, with all the cousins

Scattered abroad

And an occasional strain of a folk song

Resurfacing on lonely urban nights!