8/08/2015

ANOTHER DIARY REPRODUCTION

LISTENING
19th June
When I got to do nothing – when I am not even watching TV or using my PC – I remain idle for a purpose; opening my senses wide. I, then, focus into hearing game.


It starts as early as the breaking of day, which gets welcomed by mixed calls of unseen birds.

In the noon, or now, the distant sawing sound coming from the slope other side strikes a nostalgic note in me. I‘ve been hearing this insect for all my life here. This, in fact, has become a part of this valley. Whenever , I hear it at this time of day, I get reminded of my days spent here; the tedious uphill walk to the hospital only to get vaccinated; collecting woods from the opening glade nearby; going for swimming to escape from household chores beside summer heat and boredom; and the most pleasant of all – picnic. The insect-sound was in the backdrop in all those happenings. And now, it’s a reminder to those memories. Even as I listen to it and cherish, somewhere, the bark of some trees would be razed by the herbivorous creature.

In the garden, there is gentle motion of the wind against the blades of the maize and mango leaves ( the two makes the prime content of my garden ). Momentarily, the breeze stops and so do the movements. But, soon, as usual, it picks up its playful spirit and brushes past all those crops under the blazing sun, blowing hope over them, reviving those about to succumb to the summer temperature. Even the rustle is music in such afternoon. The breeze could be one of the splendid creations, the creator created, in his infinite wisdom. And its availability is a proof that I am blessed.

Beside these, I also add my whistling to the lists of the noon, though occasionally.

I could also hear rumble in the distance, probably, emerging from the bridge point.

Neighbours seem to be taking siesta; the shop is quiet and unattended and couple of customers call the keeper in vain and leaves unsatisfied; the immediate house is silent. Perhaps, they are busy, engaged in their duties.

As in morning, sometimes, late in such noon also, familiar tweets of certain birds could be heard. Though in morning, it sounds as an alarm tone and bit refreshing, however, now being produced from quite afar and low in decibel, my senses perceive it as no different to some phrase of a lullaby – soft and unclear. Perhaps, I also need to concede to my sleeping senses. In this oppressive and uncomfortable noon, only two kinds of people would will to work; a striving-starving poor and a selfish fool.

Well. I would prefer and resort to listening, simply. 

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