Musings of the Heart

With more time on my hands, I often find myself reminiscing. There is a bitter-sweet pleasure in looking back and picking up the threads from the days when  life was a  " Milky Way" and the entire universe looked like a 'Galaxy'.

One of my favourite memories is the time when I arrived in Lahore for further education and the wonder (coupled with bewilderment) I felt at every new experience, as days went by. Following is an account of my early days in Lahore, and the newly awakening love I felt for the place.

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I cannot say that it was love at first sight.

It just grew upon me-like a rose-bush that would creep and crawl , slowly and steadily, leaning  against your garden wall – and suddenly one day you would be engulfed in the sweet scents without even realizing its coming through that back door you cross  each day without a glance towards the surroundings. You would follow the whiff-and there it would be – a fiery blaze of red, swaying gently in the breeze, beckoning to you, dazzling you, curling its way into the deep recesses of your heart, its fragrance nestling warmly in the intricate maze of your mind.

And so the love of the city grew- bit by bit, day by day.  

Looking back at those early days in Lahore, I can almost relive the moments when initially, I used to cringe at every foul smell, jerk at every fire-cracker thrown at my feet   (well, almost) as I picked my way back to the college hostel after a tiring tour into the cramped bazaars for my weekly shopping, and burst into tears at the mere sight of a lizard strolling around, the biggest beneficiary of democracy in the country.

I look back now and I smile.

Those days soon swept into oblivion. And were replaced by the more pleasant era of happy, care-free days of  youth, long walks in the garden, mingled with choruses of  sing-song voices after the daily ritual of dreary drab dinners in the hostel mess, and rounds of coffee back in our rooms, which always followed the same pattern…locking the door, sneaking out the electric heater, putting on water to boil in a stained yellow saucepan, the rigorous beating of coffee and sugar in the huge porcelain mugs and finally… the heavenly aroma penetrating the air in the small, cosy room filled with a dozen or so home-sick girls gathered to find solace in each others’ company.

The city itself unfolded a new wonder each day. I slowly began to associate with the typical characteristics of Lahore and its dwellers. The tinkling bell of the milkman’s bicycle each morning signalled the time to lock my room and hurry to my first class of the day. The ‘masi’ hovering around in my room, would give me subtle hints about this poor boy who had to pay his fee today or would be expelled from school, and that poor girl who was trying in vain to collect enough money to buy medicine for her little baby    (the first boy after five girls and so even the more precious). And I would quietly slip a red note in her palm after which she would leave, beaming affectionately at me. I began to love the morning smells and sounds : the dust in the air, the fresh dew on the college lawns, the monotonously consistent rattle of the auto-rikshas, the ecstatic belching and mooing of the cows being herded across the busiest roads of the city on top priority, the blaring horns , the roads giving off heat as they snaked across the length and breadth of the city, and thousands of people milling around at all hours of the day, each with a different story to tell, a different burden to carry.

My love for the city was infectious and it spread to my life veins permanently. I was destined by fate to marry a staunch Lahorite and settle down in the city of my dreams permanently.

The romance continues.

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