Week 1-29/2/16

 Ancestor’s Home

Away from the hustle and bustle of Bombay, the narrow roads of Patan felt strangely familiar. Noisy rickshaws and hungry cows that munch on anything in their path pushed me around. Despite a heavy breakfast, walking down the narrow alley that leads to my second home was a tedious task but luckily as always stray dogs who seem to think of themselves as the kings of the area came to my rescue. They barked and chased me all the way to the front door while I obviously jumped over and sometimes even stepped in cow dung. Once inside the appetizing aroma of roasted ‘Papad’ filled the air.

City as an Isidoran

From the peaceful haven of my bedroom, the beautifully architectured dwindling staircase transported me to the chaotic and busy life of Isidora, my fingers tracing the intricate encrusted sea shells. Matching the rhythm of the city, I raced to work. There was a time when these walks to work made several stops to soak in the rustic beauty and charm of the city, despite its modernity it transported its visitors to another era. Slowly I found myself just making one stop at the same corner and while I pretended to make my hair looking at my reflection I basked in glory of Isidora’s pride. Sir David’s Violins was every musician’s desire, the skill to which only a few knew.

The walks back home was when one truly realized the city’s vibe and liveliness. The oldest pub at the heart of the city pumped the streets with energy. I grinned at the sight of the bold ladies flirtatiously chatting away with a foreigner, reminding me of my glory days. The city was always on the move, the only thing constant was the wall at the square where the prehistoric men watched the world go by. In a fast paced city like Isidora where everyone strived to achieve their dream or desire, the wall was like the sun while the entire solar system spun around it. The old men sat there for hours, reminiscing, watching the young go by almost as if on stealth mode. Little did they know that the young could never figure out the reason of their glare and feared the old age and the antics it could make one do. The thought of being a vegetable and not chasing after a dream was depressing and foreign to them.

After a long and tiring day at work, the walks by the canal and salty breeze refreshed me. I finally tucked into bed and after a lot of practice I had finally mastered the art of blocking out the loud aggressive brawls of the bettors over cockfights and let the clear starry night cradle me to sleep.

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