Mulberry Trees

There’s something about lazy Saturday mornings. They often bring out memories of an unforgotten past. A past that dwells somewhere deep down within us, but one, which is veiled by the turmoil of day to day life.

Its only when it hits us like a tennis ball in a game of "pithu" that we come to terms with the fact- that we too, are as susceptible to the brunt of harsh reality as everyone else.
Its on one such Saturday afternoon, that I find myself reminiscing about games played on "extinct" summer afternoons .An assortment of varied rock plays in the background while I read the first few lines of Khaled Hosseini's-The Kite runner. And then, a thought hits me from a distance. its one which I didn’t predict, nor one which I can comprehend.

There’s a memory which lingers in my mind. Something that dates back to the afternoons of a childhood much forgotten. Grown ups often yearn for their long lost past, which often appeals to them like a box of chocolates lying across the table to an obese on a diet. Probably then, I'm either not a grown up or the past is too far away to entice me in any other way than to make me wonder.

The snapshot is one of children climbing a mulberry tree in the compound of a public school in the neighborhood; each clinging to the most fruitful branch. Some trying to make their way up the rather huge wall which does little to deteriorate their overenthusiastic souls. Scratched knees only make the mulberries' more delicious.

I fail to remember anything more. For children who share the memory with me, I don’t remember who you are. The best I am able to do right now is to guess your presence on the tree only from estimates of your existence during different spans of my life.

Maybe I have traveled more than any of you through this last decade, maybe you have had much more.