A Bit Of Sky

The trees in the Park, apart from those which line the walkways, grow in a tight, sisterly circle. The naseberry or mud apple fruit trees go one above. They not only form a circle: they then grow a secondary circle around the first one. Then there are the madly flowering champa trees. In December, they drop many leaves, and at the tip of every stem of the tree, grow the white champa flowers with buttercup yellow centers, in vengeful profusion. They scent the air, perfume it richly, and my nose twitches like a rabbit’s, when I walk by. I draw in deep breaths of the rich, flower-scented, oxygen rich air: and I tell the man who lives with me, “I can smell the roots growing.” I didn’t want to make him nervous, so I didn’t add “Fee Fie Fo Fum.” He gives me a sidelong look and tries to walk faster, so that he can pretend we are not together , and that he doesn’t know me.

Look up at the bit of sky when you walk. That’s all that can be seen, among the waving fronds of the tree-tops. Don’t move your head or neck. Only your eyes. Count to two, then look back at what is at eye level, count to two. Repeat 30 times. This is the first part of the morning face yoga ritual, to tighten the skin around the eyes, and improve blood circulation, in, and around the eyes. Fill your eyes with that bit of sky. You can instantly feel a sense of relief and coolness fill them.

Try not to take these things for granted. Two years under house arrest should have told us how precious these ‘small’ things are.

Staring into a mobile while out on a walk, head and neck bent over, eyes fixed on the tiny moving or stationery images, or words, is detrimental both to body and mind.

I see, too, touching and poignant pictures of filial devotion that cause my eyes to mist over. A man gets his old father to the Park. The older man is so frail, so old, that he can scarcely walk. Sometimes a teenager accompanies them. At others, it is just he, and the older man. He seldom brings his father into the Park. It is too much for him to walk. So he sits with him, near the steps, facing the risen Sun.

They sit quietly together, the young man supporting the older one. Children playing around them make sure that the ball they play with does not hurt or touch either father or son. Complete strangers smile at both father and son. And gradually, through the tiredness, and the ravages of age, we see a smile break out on the face of the old man. It looks like another Sun has risen. We see the joy on the young man’s face, and the love, for this helpless old man who taught him to walk and talk, think and act. When it looks like the older man is tiring, the son takes him back to their home.

A world which has so much love, and light, and that bit of sky, can’t be all bad, can it?

©️ 2021 Suma Narayan. All Rights Reserved.

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