A couple of days ago, as I lay sleepless at an insane hour, I went on the routine journey: down the memory lane. This time however, I was surprised to find a discipline of sorts to the imagery that my mind conjured. They were all roads. From different periods in my life. Not the kinds that Robert Frost took in his poetry, the ones less travelled. Although, coming to think about it, I did pick one like that for life. But these were real, physical roads. That scorched under the summer’s sun, or allowed the flowers of Gulmohar, fallen under the might of the sudden sprightly shower to stick to their glistening bosom. Those that had holes here and there, groomed to become the urn of water for thirsty birds occasionally. Those, whose tarring finished unevenly along the two edges, like the Nutella-cream that forever fails to reach the crust of my bread. Some that never got the taste of tar, throughout my childhood days, and when finally did get the long-overdue coating under the Pradhan Mantri’s Gram Sadak Yojana (Prime Minister’s Rural Road Scheme), became the talk of the town, and some of the most important happenings in my quiet childhood.
So, roads, that were etched in my memory, beckoned to me, to walk upon them, once more, all over again.
A twenty something feeling her way through life.