The moon seems happily freer; it went around the Earth twice, but I couldn’t step out of my home. The Covid -19 pandemic red-flagged my social mobility and further pushed me into emotional chaos by naming the domain where I live as a red zone: by health officials.
Since then, I have been watching the passage of day and night from my terrace space – the only place that gives me a semblance of mental sanity otherwise let to rust in mass insulation which I’m enduring for over seven weeks.
But I’m enjoying, perhaps on the sly, in this dark, silent, tormenting journey through Corona virus offensive, my son’s company. He got accidentally stuck, a sheer providence, possibly to fulfill his ‘pious obligations’ to his father to serve and display his culinary ideas. Poor boy, I know he is missing his wife and three-year-old kid.
Summer days descended a tad too early. I started avoiding my morning strolls as I found myself sweaty and dripping just a few minutes out in the open. But I notice a refreshing phenomenon; my school compound is lined by full-grown Pongamia trees, (multipurpose avenue trees known for its oil, insect repellent qualities.) Now not a soul to disturb them; they become a nested community of birds and restful shelter with its full green bloom of leaves rocking in the morning sunlight.
I found the leaves dense and tumbling, temptingly calling my camera for a morning siesta waving the young foliage teasingly in a romantic frolic. I walk around the fragile leaves, peering at the uncurling translucence as thin as soap bubbles calmly ramp walking on summer wafts.
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