When the Courtyard Contemplates

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Little Meena, oblivious of her circumambient, was twirling, dancing, and hopping around her mother, firmly clenching the pallu of her saree. The teeny-sized frock and the two bunches of hair tied securely near the scalp, symmetrically on either side of her round head, also accompanied this whirlwind. The frock was gifted to her by her aunt just a few months ago during Durga Puja and she has already outgrown its length, evincing her fast growth. She was giggling and shrieking in joy. The mother would now and then reprimand her softly with a buzzing sound while she unreservedly toppled over her head.

‘Ma.. ma.., what are you plepaling?’ The three-year-old enquired with a lisping and sputtering voice while her eyes scrutinized the ingredients that her mother had kept aside to prepare her famous mango pickles. Some of these were introduced for the first time to her eyes. The only element known to her was the mangoes because of her excessive affinity towards these delicious drupes. But these unripe ones were new to her knowledge and her little mind was engulfed by millions of unanswered questions at this moment. It was six-thirty in the morning; the mother hurried as now the sun was clement enough for her to sit in the leftmost corner of the courtyard, which would soon be extremely searing. She was answering her youngest daughter’s incessant flow of questions, sometimes with love and then with a bit of impatience. 

This courtyard was gleefully beholding the mother-daughter gambol as it was shining vividly under the sun. Suddenly lost and nescient; it was contemplating so many moments since eons for umpteen people- of this family, those who lived prior to them, and many bygone ones. It had experienced and lived so many lives along with each personage and character. Some were exultant and certainly few were dismal. And with those human emotions, this courtyard too wept and laughed.

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