Footprints...

I am sure it happens to everyone.

People touch your life with their presence, then become an integral part of your joys and sorrows, and then in a whiff, go away. It is ironical...when you are with them, the mere thought of parting causes an ache in the heart, but when it actually happens, you tend to move on with your lives, that makes you feel…was that all? All those times we laughed together…and cried, all those days when we would spend hours talking...and those when we never knew, what to talk...beautiful memories…and darkest fears...all get packed in some remote corner of your memories...only to be opened in one quiet moment like this today..

It happened to me at school...parting with friends...and it happened again at college…I don't know what happened to so many of my friends...no idea what they are doing and how they are doing...no idea what they look like…and no idea if I'll ever meet them to tell, "Hey, I care."

And in such solitary moments, when you start turning back the pages of life, it’s not just people you recognize as friends, but many other unnamed relations, which cross your thoughts…this post today is a recollection of some of those people, and the footprints they left behind…

The earliest memories that beckon me are of “Maan ji”- a frail old widow, always dressed in 5 yards of humble white cotton, a wry, toothless face showing the signs of all pains that life had inflicted on her, and a pair of gentle, pale eyes with a hint of pearly grey, that would shower us with all the blessings known to mankind!
And oh! The important part - she wore beautiful and really heavy anklets, which made her vulnerable to all sort of greedy eyes.
We had no ties of blood with her…but from the times I recall, I had always seen her coming to our home very often, almost on a daily basis…she would nurse us as kids, and we would treat her as a granny…her family had taken all her property, and abandoned the poor soul…and for all the love and care she found in our family, she would keep on blessing us endlessly…”Neesa” is what she would call me…I have seen you aging maan-ji, and then going to a state of complete loneliness…you couldn’t walk then, and stayed in a small, very small, damp, shanty abode, and I would often have to accompany my mom, despite all the nagging, to your place to give you food…I still recall your last days, when you would want to say so many things, but your body won’t let you…you would want to talk to someone…anyone, but I would not have the patience to listen…or the care to stay…I was wrong Maan-ji…I shouldn’t have been so mean to run away, when you once held my hand tight, and wanted me to sit and talk…but then..I was a kid, wasn’t I? I wasn’t sad, when you died, and no one else was, but if I look back now, I wonder at how you were able to retain all your sweet goodness, despite life being so bitter to you…

Move on…and I can see “Chote maharaj” standing with his calm smile, gleaming with a divine halo, which I am too ignorant to write about…we had just moved in into a new neighborhood, a place surrounded by what people call “The Ashram”- a holy abode of some saints of Naath sampradaya – a sect that worships Lord Shiva. I was in class 8, when we started visiting the Ashram on a daily basis…come teatime, and we would rush for our daily prayers, and Prasad, along with the assignments Chote Maharaj had given us to finish…he was the one who inspired me to write…write about a wide variety of topics, and before writing, do all sort of research possible…we did not have internet those days, so research wasn’t that accessible, and I remember digging into all sorts of old newspapers and magazines to find out information that was relevant…those essays, and later poems helped me form some strong, fundamental ideas about good and bad, developed the traits of reasoning, and debate, besides helping me strengthen the way I express myself…you constantly inspired me to do better, to grow as a human…time went on passing by…as I grew busy with studies, my trips to Ashram changed from daily to weekly to monthly…and now it’s been years… today I have no idea where you are Chote Maharaj, but somewhere deep inside, a part of me will always owe so much to you!

They say that life is the biggest teacher. For me, life came in the form of “Neelu maa’m”-my English teacher back in the high school days…you arrived when I just needed you the most…and you instilled in me the confidence to conquer all that I wanted…and then you left…no idea…to where…but I hope to meet you someday maa’m, and want to hear it from you, that I make you feel good about being a teacher…the world is too small…and I am sure someday, our roads will cross again…I have no idea, how to find you…but somewhere deep, I’ll always respect you…and love you!

Lots of thoughts drifting in my mind…and a lot many footprints still need to be dug up…and cherished… 26 years after all is a long time!

Some part of me still wants to hold those past memories together...cocooned, and take them along to the future...and keep their warmth alive...

Here's a toast to all those old memories.
Cheers!