The Dead Garden
-- ~ ~ ~ ~ "The Dead Garden" ~ ~ ~ ~ --
This is a short memoir of a little place that is unknown to around 99.999999% of the world. Though its been there for so many years, its existence cannot be shown in the history books because it proves to be of no relevance to the archaeologists, bone diggers and unapologetically boring historians. Though number of battles have been fought by the valiant sons of pride and honour, I dont expect to see them in history books in the offing.Geographically, it is too minute to be considered an environment in itself. Simply speaking, its not a rich biodiversity for the specialists to research in awe. The flora and fauna is quite common for the North Indian soil, so I wont mind ignorance from the Biologists and Zoologists either. Lets conclude, it wont be a part of any subject!!!
Physically, it measures just over 2000 or 3000 sq mts. I am not sure if my guess is correct because Maths and its correlated terms have always been my unforgivable enemy since birth. I have swelled my bones, bled my fingers and pretended stomach aches just to avoid the nerve wrecking mathematics examinations. Oops!! Lets not drift away in self praise. Nostalgia has been creeping over me since the very moment i began to write about this place. So, lets not bury the intense interest that has been generated by me in you through the careful choice of words ( ":-p" intended). This place is our park, our once-alive-now-dead garden.
Its completely understandable now that these battles between the valiant men were day log toilsome cricket matches that used to began at any time of the day. That lone tree who stood as a witness to those hits and bruises it received due to us doesnt exists anymore. Those miffed neighbour's with broken glasses, angry old strollers and little kids who feared leather balls are still alive. But no one's complaining. The boys who breathed "LIFE" into that place are long gone. These brave warriors were Pummy, Rohan, Vikram, Manu, Piyush, Neeraj, Bawa, Chhota Rohan, Shashank, Sumit, Vivek, Namit, Harchit, Manchit, Hemante, Ashu, Sachin, Cheeku, Golu, Vibhu and of course Me. Rest "bade bacche" were Vineet, Kannu, Tillu, Prateek bhaiya, Monu bhaiya, Tinku bhaiya, Nitin bhaiya and goes on and on.
In the present tense, its been decorated. Our countless number of pitches that existed in all possible corners of the park have been replaced by benches, pathway, swings and certain constructions. That same lone tree (mentioned above) where the birds jostled for space at the brink of dusk, is visible only in memories. The screams of "CATCH", the angst after getting out for 0 and the mockery that we melted to each other post match has faded in space. The new visitors might be enjoying their stay in the park, but I find them carrying a completely dull look on their rigid faces. Today's kids grow up pretty quick too. The ones who came after our generation and looked perfect to carry our legacy lost interest midway. They are off to malls or tution classes, having lost the childish levity too early in their ages.
I trust the cognizance of the man (or woman) who said time never stays the same. He may have mentioned this in other words, but I am assuming this was the meaning. That park of ours is now a perfect garden, well maintained and watched over by the idle uncles of society. They find pleasure pretending to be scarecrows whenever an unscruplous naughty bunch of bat-and-ball carrying kids arrive. Those white haired 70 year young aunties have cribbed since our time and they still do the moment a ball passes by. There are a lot of swings to cater to the needs of toddlers and their mothers. Plants have been inserted into the soil forcefully but they seem alrite.A signboard that mentions "Is park mein cricket khelna sakht mana hai" seems to carry no pride and strictness at all. Because nobody is interested. Only shadows are.
Our park doesnt breathe anymore.There is no "LIFE" in it.
Physically, it measures just over 2000 or 3000 sq mts. I am not sure if my guess is correct because Maths and its correlated terms have always been my unforgivable enemy since birth. I have swelled my bones, bled my fingers and pretended stomach aches just to avoid the nerve wrecking mathematics examinations. Oops!! Lets not drift away in self praise. Nostalgia has been creeping over me since the very moment i began to write about this place. So, lets not bury the intense interest that has been generated by me in you through the careful choice of words ( ":-p" intended). This place is our park, our once-alive-now-dead garden.
Its completely understandable now that these battles between the valiant men were day log toilsome cricket matches that used to began at any time of the day. That lone tree who stood as a witness to those hits and bruises it received due to us doesnt exists anymore. Those miffed neighbour's with broken glasses, angry old strollers and little kids who feared leather balls are still alive. But no one's complaining. The boys who breathed "LIFE" into that place are long gone. These brave warriors were Pummy, Rohan, Vikram, Manu, Piyush, Neeraj, Bawa, Chhota Rohan, Shashank, Sumit, Vivek, Namit, Harchit, Manchit, Hemante, Ashu, Sachin, Cheeku, Golu, Vibhu and of course Me. Rest "bade bacche" were Vineet, Kannu, Tillu, Prateek bhaiya, Monu bhaiya, Tinku bhaiya, Nitin bhaiya and goes on and on.
In the present tense, its been decorated. Our countless number of pitches that existed in all possible corners of the park have been replaced by benches, pathway, swings and certain constructions. That same lone tree (mentioned above) where the birds jostled for space at the brink of dusk, is visible only in memories. The screams of "CATCH", the angst after getting out for 0 and the mockery that we melted to each other post match has faded in space. The new visitors might be enjoying their stay in the park, but I find them carrying a completely dull look on their rigid faces. Today's kids grow up pretty quick too. The ones who came after our generation and looked perfect to carry our legacy lost interest midway. They are off to malls or tution classes, having lost the childish levity too early in their ages.
I trust the cognizance of the man (or woman) who said time never stays the same. He may have mentioned this in other words, but I am assuming this was the meaning. That park of ours is now a perfect garden, well maintained and watched over by the idle uncles of society. They find pleasure pretending to be scarecrows whenever an unscruplous naughty bunch of bat-and-ball carrying kids arrive. Those white haired 70 year young aunties have cribbed since our time and they still do the moment a ball passes by. There are a lot of swings to cater to the needs of toddlers and their mothers. Plants have been inserted into the soil forcefully but they seem alrite.A signboard that mentions "Is park mein cricket khelna sakht mana hai" seems to carry no pride and strictness at all. Because nobody is interested. Only shadows are.
Our park doesnt breathe anymore.There is no "LIFE" in it.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------By Vikas
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