Everywhere I’m coming across serious faces these days. Maybe, there are reasons; and those reasons cannot be wished away.
I’ve grown a garden on the roof in pots, tins, fat bottles and plastic buckets. Every morning I water plants in them (even if it rains!). Then step back. And look at the sparkling water drops on the tips of leaves.
From almost nowhere yellow butterflies come and settle on the creeping nine-o-clock flowers.
A crow perches on the overhead washing lines and starts calling caw-caw-caw.
A squirrel runs scurrying away on the parapet.
I take a small khurpi and turn up soil around the base of gandhoraj. It still blooms in the evening, though its time is well over. Perhaps, the plant knows it retains its attention as long as it blooms. So the evenings bring in an elusive scent from off-white flowers; quite shy to appear fully; happy to peep out behind twigs.
Earthworms come out as I dig soil inside out. Earlier I throw them away down to the bins. Now I let them there. They are the natural ploughers, more useful than my aggressive khurpi.
By then clouds break up. Sun comes out.
The grim around gives way to large grin.
It is time for a bulbuli couple to collect dry straws and deposit them at the corner of cornice of a closed window next house. They look very busy. They build up a nest for their love breed.
A child wobbles on the wide window sill under the watchful eyes of mother two houses down from mine. Time to time, she breaks into sunny smile as mother tousles her soft curly hair.
The bulbuli couple flies away, urging each other in their twittery voice chirpily, ‘Smile on’, ‘Smile on’.