An Extra Bag

The following is entirely written by Roochy - a perfect Tea Garden Memsahib, as she packs her bags to leave the Tea Gardens for ever.

As I pack my bags to leave,for a longish period,in pursuit of goals which I had left behind me nearly a decade ago and head to the throbbing heart of a metro I once called home,I realize I'll have to carry an extra bag.

Let me see,what shall pack in it?The sights, sounds and smells-the very essence of this life that I have come to know and ever so unknowingly come to love.Amidst the cocaphony of my new life this bag is going to come very handy.

Where do I start?
The buzz of a thousand bees in the litchi tree that has burst into bloom must go in.It has always been synonymous for me with the promise of the fruition of a hope.The sight of the north westers rolling in at the end of a blistering hot day,first blocking out the hills then gathering overhead to provide a stunning backdrop to the spring foliage on tall shade trees,then a clap of thunder here and a flash of lightning there- nature's orchestra adjusting it's tuning before the show finally begins.Oh yes! the first notes that emerge
from the first drops falling on the gravel at my feet all go in too.

So do the flashes of the firefly chowkidars guarding I know not what as the bustle about on duty on rainy nights.The sound of crystal tinkling indoors while elephants trumpet outdoors.Wonder if these sounds could coexist so harmoniously anywhere else.And winter mornings-I can't leave those behind either,in goes the first coherent picture my son made on the thickly fogged windscreen of the car as I drove him to school one freezing dawn-a cat with no ears and a tail half a mile long.The smell of the lawn mowed is another must,I'll wrap it in the accompanying racket of the vintage lawn mower.

The gate clanging,carpets being beaten,a bamboo broom at work on crisp dry winter leaves,the flappng of washing being hung out to dry on the line,the unmistakable smell of wood polish all symbolizing a day in my life for all these years,so intrinsically woven are they with me now that I won't have to carry them,they'll just come right along,one after another,filling in my extra bag.

And then right on top carefully ,very carefully because I'm not sure if it's gossamer fragility will ever let it survive in a new pulsating environment,I'm putting in-----the sound of silence,sheer and absolute in the stillness of a dark night.