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And Dances with the Daffodils

And Dances with the Daffodils
And Dances with the Daffodils

It was raining heavily outside. The sun hid behind the clouds. I sat on my window sill, sipping a cup of hot milk. The weather was slightly cold. I watched people walking with umbrellas and struggling through dirty water on the ground. The shopkeepers were covering their wares. Vendors speaking over phones, about the good supply. There was great hustle on the street. Everyone's plans dropped. The Sunday had been messed up.

I was thirteen then. My mom and dad were out for an official trip to Delhi. So my grandma and I were at home. I was feeling bored and restless. So, I quickly gave a call to my mother and asked about some CDs and DVDs. She told that they were kept in the third drawer of the bureau of the room next to mine. I gave a steady look but there were none. But all I found was a reddish brown coloured dairy. It seemed to be around 20 years old. Dust gathered over its surface. I gently cleaned it and had a glance at the writing inside. As I opened the first page a name flashed before my eyes. It was my mom's (before marriage), Susmita Chatterjee. I turned to the consecutive page. I started reading what was written there. "16th February 1992 in Germany : Yesterday when I was sitting at Delhi airport waiting for the flight to Germany I met Shabnam Sarkar, an old friend after 10 or more years. Though we kept mum, our eyes spoke, our emotions spoke. Now when I am in Germany in my uncle's residence I feel like speaking to her. I am craving to hear her voice But there is no way. Looking at her I went to a crazy flashback of our school days when we were like! enemies. We couldn't stand each other. And unfortunately the teachers made us sit together. We fought over every small and big issue which we ourselves found very silly. But if she used to be absent my day seemed to be a faint one, and I hope, the same happened with her. This was our friendship. But one of our arguments grew so big that I accidently said if she dies I will be the happiest person. And the next day she arrived with the news that she is leaving the school for ever. I asked her several questions but she answered not a single one From that particular day the school became a place of displeasure for me. But it is a human nature that we often displace the old memories by new circumstances. Moreover, man's desire is to get joy and live for joy.

Imagination and dream might save me from this predicament. I took shelter in them. But my by-gone days returned me my best friend, Shabnam and the old conversation and quarrel with her gave me pleasure, which can be compared with the pleasure of William Wordsworth with his Daffodils. I am closing today's writing with the line "And then my heart with pleasure fills, and dances with theDaffodils."

And Dances with the Daffodils
And Dances with the Daffodils

And Dances with the Daffodils
And Dances with the Daffodils
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