The Quest

Sometimes I think my life can be different.
This can lead to a two misleading deduction. One I am not happy with my life. Another, I want to change my life-style. But both are wrong. The truth is that, I just want to search my soul a bit further. Escaping from the daily demands of life, the agony of any uncherished dreams and ever booming hopes of a middle class young corporate. Just to remove the branded ‘tags’ and where I am truly my own. Where my whims are my boss and breaking rules is my job-profile.

But why I am so juxtaposed in these rubbish thoughts?
Well, its my letter and here I can write whatever I feel. Thus I am free to express myself here. And thus I would not dare any pinching eyebrows or fake adjustments of sheer hypocrisy.

But still life amazes me with its beautiful flavours.

Once while traveling with my friend in Agra-Delhi Highway in bike we stopped at a Dhaba.
It is nearly three in the morning. But still this roadside Dhaba is awake.

Trucks are coming in large numbers….the drivers getting out and ordering lassi , tea and then talking in regional accent with other truck drivers. Hindi, Punjabi are the most frequent in this Agra-Delhi highway, still Gujrati is also heard….the radio is on ….both in the Dhaba and the parked Trucks….tunes of Himesh Reshamiya….Kajre Re….Tere bina jiya jai na….all going in random thanks to Channels of FM…. The passing on of running Trucks, cars in lightning speed….the flashes of their headlights cutting the darkness into pieces….suddenly someone shouting, ‘Arey Raju, kahan mar gaya?’….the coming of the answer from inside the Dhaba….the smell of Tarka,( a preparation of pulses), the clinging sound of spoon and glass mixing sugar in lassi ….the smoke of tea rising from the aluminum teapot kept over the furnace….the 80 power yellow bulb hanging from the bamboo wall….some birds sitting on the thatched roof , flapping their wings ….preparing to fly for the day….the small boy in this darkness also running swiftly to serve the food…. The Dhaba is alive….these Dhabas hardly sleeps .
After having food we slept over a bamboo-strip bed, locally called ‘Khatiya’. Open in the air.
I tried to remember that when did I last saw sky like this.
The sky is just kissed by a faint light. The colour of this light is just maddening…the light itself shows the slow evolution of morning from night….I once had a great friendship with this moment of nature….in my childhood I often visited my maternal house ….the village is in the banks of the Subarnarekha river…it was during this moment that my grandfather everyday used to walk out from house….he went everyday to the river and made worship to the first ray of the light of the sun….I sat quietly in the banks….the gentle wave touched my feet….the wind drew many wrinkles over the water….the deep blue sky passing on to be a bit lighter….then more lighter….then golden….then morning ….it was unbelievable….everyday I waited when that moment would come and everyday I had the fear that maybe he would find the sky and the river…. old….but it never occurred….when I grew up….when I first started writing ex-pressions through words in personal diary….I understood that nature is forever….it never gets old….
I also remembered those daysof childhood which I spent on Benaras.
We had a small rented house in Varanasi….my mother , a teacher of a Govt. school….my little sister….Rini….who is in seven now….my father….
Died in cancer…. My relationship with the morning and the evening Ganges…. dancing over the boat with the old Ali Bhai, the old boat man smiling with numbered teeth’s….the romanticism of roaming through the different ghats of Varanasi in boat….things changes….the day when I lighted the funeral pyre of my father in the burning ghat beside the Ganges….my life changed from that day….I never got my father’s Govt. job….politics, backdoor….anything can be the reason….thus I decided that I have to shine in life….and mother gave her every deposited money for my engineering..
Now I am standing here..working in an MNC.. but where is that smell of nature….where is the simple picture of my grandfather walking through wet fields of villages….where are my little emotions….irrelevant illogical likings of meaningless things…. moments….where is my lost diary….where I have lost my feelings to scribble up anything, everything for my own….for just to find a different me within ….?

I feel like now as if I am lying naked below the vast sky.
How long I would only run behind career….money….selfishness….slangs….wine….women….sex….own pleasures….how long?
And at that moment as the shades of dark slowly withers away and first traces of light opening up..
I wept.
And with wet eyes I continued my quest..
My quest for the lost truth within me.

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