yet again ... getting lost ... then enjoying self-discovery ...

Brooming away Previous post on the topic Most Sunday’s I wake up to the sounds of cleaning, of brooms pushing leaves. A sound that makes my hair stand on end! Men, most of them in the second halves of their lives, brooming away with an energy that they seldom display otherwise. They consider leaves as trash akin to plastic disposables and are happy to burn both plastic and leaves together. For some of them, each day is a Sunday. What does one do? Label this as brahminical and sound woke? Question that rare ‘house-work’ which men take up with rigour and earn the wrath of women? Wish that these men took up some other activity? Meditate? Assume that the activity is meditative for the ‘broomer’ – this is difficult given that, most if not all, ‘broomers’ carry that ‘venting out frustration’ and the ‘do not mess with me’ look! My neighbourhood is not an exception. Once, at the sprawling campus of an NGO I had asked why were leaves being removed? Were they not a part of the ground, grass and...

 ~ ~ Summers bring in fresh colours and shapes on campus The fetish for brooming has taken a back-seat this season  and these colours and shapes are more pronounced ~ ~  I enjoy walking on these leaves, feel them tickle and caress my naked feet, listen to them crackle as I walk . . .  When I shared this with a friend she responded with these lines by Gulzaar Saab " . . वह सूखा पत्ता उस लकड़ी के पुल पर ही पड़ा था उसे उस पुल पे आने-जाने वाले पैरों का डर था  कुचल दे गा कोई भी, पीस देगा पाँव के नीचे . . " ~ ~  Many of these leaves and flowers are decidedly happy  with each other  If there was a line that would appropriately suit all these fellows being together it is a positive version of  "सब साले मिले हुवे हैं"  ~ ~  Each is special their shadows too have colours  गुलमोहर पीपल  ~ ~  Reminds me of children playing undisturbed Neither adults nor o...