A splash of cold water and you look up, the dishevel locks, distinct tan and above all those myopic red eyes, takes you some where in time. A place where the serene red perfectly blended with the sand, sun, stone and surf. A place where all you cared for was the strong wind that blew off your head gear each time you tried to put it on. Indifferent of the rocky terrain cutting into your footwear and your insolated back you walk the scratchy road tread by few. Even as the wind gathers speed the familiar pungent aroma in the air ruffles your senses. The heavy bag slung across your shoulder stacked with mortal belongings makes you feel lighter. The last few steady steps and you enter the scenic stretch of land flanked by water and the majestic mountains. To your right, perched in a crude valley is the angelic sweet water lake and to your left the never ending Arabian sea. They called it paradise and now you know why.
After a dip in the languid green you bask in the sun’s glory as your numb senses soak in the sights and sounds of the place. A distant urchin selling indigenous handicrafts fails to catch your attention. The heavy lunch at Smokey’s and the long ride there after makes you want to slip away. The past few hours starts taking its toll. The beauty starts eluding you and the blisters on your feet start hurting. Every thing turns into a mere reflection of the heaven you were once in as if myopia was having his revenge. Another splash of cold and you realize that you were getting late for class.
Burning eyes give way to a heavy head and your stone laden feet refuse to budge. You decide to treat yourself to an early morning dose of caffeine. A little boy clad in a loin cloth and barely touching your waist clears off the empty glasses. You almost missed him again as the new billboard across the street catches your attention. “A lot can happen over coffee”, it read. You shift gears and start walking towards college with a new spring in your steps, but your mind is in a dilemma as thoughts of the boy selling his produce hits you like torrential rains. The flickering smile and pleading eyes that actually never existed paint your imagination black and white. You walk past a grey dog sitting beside a grey wall under a grey sky.
The circle of life starts again, pages of your high school poetry book comes flashing before your eyes. Passages by a certain notorious William Wordsworth that you struggled to comprehend all of a sudden starts making sense. The heavens start pouring down as if in lament for the child on the beach and a million more for whom things like literature, Wordsworth and poetry were a distant dream. Maybe even a crazy nightmare because that will take them away from the cozy comforts of poverty. A few blocks down lives the billionaire who flies light and brews strong and he could spend a fortune making castles of sand. A few blocks up lives the boy who is being brewed into a lifeless mass like the coffee beans in the pot.
The rain gathers speed and direction as you take shelter under a green tree. A blue bus with “India Shining” painted in red goes past you.
Maybe this was nature’s holy plan
Maybe after all you should not at all lament
Because this is what “Man has made of man”