Sitting outside in my grandpa’s veranda, he passed away before I could appreciate his presence; he wished for me to come see his art; his garden, a green maze of trees and bushes, from marigolds and periwinkle to mango trees and whatnot.
As I lay here on the mat, close to my grandpa, I might gladly add; seeing the ants crawl up on the periwinkle blooms and wild butterflies dancing overhead; with a bulbul on a mango tree branch and crows chattering near food dumps; with a sweet scent of marigold in the air and crickets chirping in the background; with a mongoose running on the broad fence and a squirrel eating rice that my grandma kept; with the sun rays hitting my face through the trees and a couple of flies hovering beside my novel; with a moment of pure serenity, that brings a peaceful calm to this tranquil space; my heart feels full and my soul at ease.
As a gentle breeze whispers by, my hair seems to be afloat. As the fresh air clears my mind, I feel alive like never before. As I hear children playing nearby, memories of my childhood days come alive; one of the best moments of my life; in this veranda forever entwined. As I feel a soft breath of crispness on my face, I reminisce about the times I had lived with him; the village isn't as bad as it seemed.
This is the land where my ancestors lived; and where I feel his presence still, he must be smiling sitting on the chair beside me; finally, content that I appreciate his accomplishment.
my grandpa put all his effort in his last days to rebuild the veranda