musings under a purple umbrella

"Just living is not enough. One must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower."
~ Hans Christian Anderson


The air, the sweet smell of the air, and it came flavored with the hum of running water and a gentle zephyr, the chirping of the birds, the benevolent sun too couldn't have been more pleasant.
It was April, and the Jacaranda that stretched above my head was in full bloom. A heaven of sky bejeweled with purple magnificence. There was something magical about that place which made me retreat to the silence and the solitude that dwelt there.
I often would take a walk and reach this favorite haunt of mine in about fifteen minutes. Cycling isn't a very good option in these hilly terrains, and in any case, I haven't taught myself to ride a two-wheeler yet, the reason why I always depended on the two sticks protruding out of my body, for carrying me and mind to this sacred abode of mine. It was no different that day. I climbed a flight of concrete stairs to reach the main road, from where my path curved to a little earthen road, that rose and disappeared into a verdant grove of pines. The red earth, still damp, from the previous night's rain, was littered with rust-hued pine needles, providing cushion for those pine cones that occasionally answered gravity's call and kissed the lap of the earth. From a greater height, I could hear a skylark sing. Its songs interrupted by that of a blue jay while a flock of sparrows chirped about in the wilderness. The brook nearby, too, joined in the chants, plucking its own lyre, while the stems of the nearby trees danced to the tunes, their movements orchestrated by the breeze.
And there, amidst that serene and calm ambiance, I conspired to give vent to my desire for some tranquility. I laid on the grass, with my eyes facing the heaven. Little trumpets silhouetted on its blue bosom. I could smell the grass, and even though the fragrance of the morning dew had started to evaporate under the watchful eyes of the mighty sun, yet it retained an aroma, a discerning smell of its own.
From far apart, like from a distant corner of my pumping vessel, words of a song started springing:

                 "mon mu-uu-uurrr uri gusi jai, kijanu pai-u heruwai......" *

I turned on my mp3 player, scrolled down the list of songs and let Papon add some more charm to the moment I was in. Melody blended with the blue expanse and a world of exquisite delight made its descent upon me. And I was lost, swept away into the beautiful, cherry tree lined lanes of that world. In the magic of that moment, I could palpate some unknown melancholy, that had lain somewhere within, stealthily making for the exit door.
Time halted, and everything else came to a halt. It was a wonderful reverie I was invoking, and I ceased to exist in the realm of reality. A melodious charm had me in its grip.

While I was thus lost in the haze, when puncturing a million intangible bubbles of space and time, I heard the voice of Rumi mouthing the words, “When you do things from your soul, you feel a river moving in you, a joy.”

I was a vagabond lost in contemplation of my own making, and all of a sudden, like a bolt from the blue, came exploding Otep Shamaya's roaring voice, screaming down the tunnels of my auditory lobes, "run for cover". And that was it. Everything else blanked out and, my eyes threw up the shutters.

In a pixelated font, my mobile's LCD blinked: Gareth calling.

I pressed the green button to terminate Otep's voice and let Gareth commence his.

"Alright, I'll be there. Give me fifteen."

And that was it. The end of a sweet sojourn.

“Wherever we may come alive, that is the area in which we are spiritual.”
~ David Steindl-Rast