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  • Writer's picturemanankathuria

A story unfolds at the Safdarjung Tomb.

A story unfolds at the Safdarjung Tomb.

The rain has finally stopped. The sky is overcast. The breeze is blowing. The weather is beautiful. I’ve packed my bag with a diary, a book, few pencils and have decided to go for a Dilli day. Clueless, of where to go this time, nothing comes to my mind except Lodhi Garden.

I am in the metro now. The coach is filled with afternoon’s melancholy. I walk out of the Jor Bagh Metro Station. Sadly, the sun is shining bright. The sky is dispersed with scattered clouds. The breeze has stopped blowing. It seems like I am carrying the noon’s melancholy with me. Few steps ahead, crowd is gathered. Some signboards celebrating ‘Yoga Day’ are displayed and the entry to each and every monument in Dilli is free, just for that day.

I walk through the gate and Safdarjung’s Tomb stops me from going to the Lodhi Garden, as if some story is about to unfold. The fountain fascinates me. The main doorway has some friends chit-chatting. I decide to take a right, I have never explored that part of the Tomb before. A white door catches my attention, and I am curious to know what’s behind. A mystery is locked. Everything is still at that moment. The leaves remain calm with me, as I walk around the complex.

I walk behind the tomb, the water stream is dry, as if no one appreciates the inner beauty. A tree is in it’s last stage, but the leaves aren’t separating from it. Fresh leaves are growing, as a sense of hope, whereas some dry leaves fall as the wind blows. It’s still standing and surviving. To look for more trees, I take a round and I see a peacock, sitting on one of the branches of the tree and calling out for someone. The someone replies with a sound more louder than the peacock’s. And the hunt for that sound starts.

While strolling, I see some scattered pigeons doing a conference, and two love birds talking about the four-letter word under the shade of the tree in the same frame.

The sound of the peacock comes again from one corner, then the other corner, then again, and it starts echoing. A conversation is happening and the world around them doesn’t know what they’re talking about. The language of love comes from within. The within comes from the self. I look below, I see two-selves. The inner and the outer in layers. The depth is way deep. Their love is way deeper. The sound of love in the afternoon’s melancholy, distanced but the Dilli’s Safdarjung Tomb.

Thank you for being a part of my journey :')


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