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Memoirs from my life: A bench.


Memoirs from my life Manan Kathuria

I was sitting on a bench which must have seen so many generations, so many days, so many months, so many years, so many sunsets, so many seasons, so many memories. It has grown old with time, like the Jamun tree behind me has grown old with the passing decades. I found myself here on the terrace thinking about how slow, life should be. This thought was rooted in my mind after the light passed through the window, making my hand shadow touch the ground. It looked more close to the world, the nature. I took a notebook, a newspaper recycled pencil, with a cup of tea upstairs. The sun rays welcomed me again. I waved to myself looking in the shadow, as if I’m a friend of mine.

Now, I was sitting here. I opened up my journal and wrote, ‘Life’. Just a small 4 letter word. The time stopped. It had a whole universe inside it. It took me to a world which I saw right in front of my eyes. Where the sun was shining bright, the breeze was whistling, making the trees make a rustle sound. The aroma of the elaichi in chai, was giving the scene more depth. I took a sip or two. I wanted to write all of what I saw. I wanted to write about the diverse colours of leaves on the tree depicting the miseries of life in a colourful manner, which I knew was a world of melancholy in monochrome. I wanted to write about the life of a rose, struggling to survive. The blues in the sky. All of it.

I don’t remember, when did my chai finish and the cup was empty. I don’t remember when did I get up from the bench, walked downstairs, packed my bag, clicked a picture with the Jamun tree. I was just about to leave, opened my bag to take out the earphones.

Memoirs from my life: A bench.

The notebook wasn’t there. It was lying on that bench. I went upstairs. The pages were flipping, the breeze was whistling, making a rustling sound. Everything stopped for a while. The pages came to rest. I was about to pick the notebook, I saw a small, 4 letter word, ‘life’ and then...

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