How would we describe rain? The rain that dances or the rain that pours or destroys or floods? Rain, captures time in its most vulnerable moments and freezes it. In each moment lies our dreams, hence we create a circle around us cocooning that dream and we cherish the moment forever. We live every second of it, in and around the rain drops, and as the crystal cold droplets let drift enigmatic breezes that rejuvenates every cell in us, we float into the hands of destiny. Dreamers in Nirvana.
The pails in the snap are 'water catchment devices' that my grandma lines up in our backyard to collect rainwater for her vegetable patch. Almost every bit of the image drives me into an emotional roller coaster ride, every pixel of it hold stories and legends. All those years gone by where we worked on a larger garden in our village house, where I ruled the mango tree, seldom coming down even when it gets dark, the trips into the 'forest' at the back of the house to collect herbs, collect cow dung for the 'kolam' base, the tiny river that snakes through the land, the snakes that strays into our well, the coconut trees and the occasional dry coconut that falls onto the tin roof and never to forget the adventures to collect mushrooms that sprouts magically after the rain...those were the days. What was her motivation to go through what seems to me now to be a very monotonous life. I'd love to go back in time, but then again I feel its so routine for them. How the days will go past with the same electrical buzz, fast and relentlessly aging our every cell.
Their destinies charted in the backyard, in the kitchen where they cook and live. Where their soul raised countless sprouts of flora that vegetated my mind with ideas of a life. No forest was a deterrent for them as they ravaged for tapioca roots and wild seeds for exotic delicacies such as keveru puttu that are norm today. Their sweat and blood on the land that was their God, for the land that they prayed daily as they sat at the backyard fresh from their chantings, admiring the setting sun. These are women who spent their lifetime in the backyard, whom now cant ever look back at their younger days for they have lived their legacies. And who are we now to recall all this memories for we have not toiled in the sun to raise a generation.
The days of recollection will continue. The voices of the mother's of the land will be heard.
[+] If you have a story from your childhood of your mother or grandmother please do share. Make this a tag, try to live for a day or a 'post' the lifetime that has gone past.