When I was in my teens, the rains carried past, bright and persistent dreams; and, directly by my side, my mother would stand and say, ‘Each shower makes us joyful, like, two peacocks dancing all the way!’ Now, in my age of life, the rains carry past, in grey-blue-purple clouds, the silhouette of a dream, sweetly murmuring to me, ‘Return to each day – with the peacock-dance: ringing
within you!’
Ah! Memories...
Sweet Memories…
Sad Memories…
Nostalgic Memories…
The thing about memories is that they can remain still or frozen, and, then, any moment they will emerge so swiftly that they can paint a whole scene on the canvas of our inner eye: related to so many tales of our remembrances. It depends on the intensity of a person’s emotions to trigger here-and-now – the sequence of the pictures stacked in the portals of his memory-lane. More often than not, a fresh incidence can revive or inspire an old memory. Sometimes, the final outcome of a recollection may transform into a gay song or a poem of lament.
The Peacock-Dance! With a warm readiness embraces some of the memorable times I shared with my beautiful mother.
Geeta Chhabra
