Saturday, January 8, 2011

Counting Jackfruit

Sometimes it becomes a conflict within, between the heart and mind. In the end, either way, it's never easy.  No matter how overt it is, or how hard we try to make a reason, time runs out.

" ...The house was full of people, often noisy with kids running around; there was never a moment to relax. The same beaten path, from dawn to cockshut time, every day. I still remember, somedays at two in the afternoon, my sister and I took turns to sit by the rye-spread, drying in the heat of the midday sun, to chase away crows. Those were insipid hours of trivial afternoons. A life that often didn't feel good.

But now, I wish it all came back. The crowded kitchen, the celerity each morning, the noise and comotion, all of it. "

It was such a detailed recountal, that it almost felt, well, present. Certainly, through eighty five years of life, there has been a lot to see, love and apprize. Today, it might be a brief memory that instigates to just narrate itself, but it's all the more a life that my grandmother prefers, a life that seconds the existing present.

Sometimes it's the past that is easy on us. It was a cognizant truth that reflected in her eyes. The long lost days of watering the lilies, in her garden roofed with jasmine creepers. Though far away from home, she still counts the coconuts like the year before. Still checks the ripeness up the jackfruit tree.

She's talking over the phone to a neighbor, back home. Incidentally there has been a "jackfruit issue".

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