Last night the moon looked particularly beautiful.
Illuminated clouds. Faint moonlight. A symphony in white and grey. An unending drapery, with charming, everchanging shades.
You know, it is a wonderful retreat to take a walk in a moonlit night, alongside running waters. Watching the intermittent shimmers, listening to the sound of waters.
The silhouettes of trees, the silence of grass.
Bachpan main, Chandni raaton mein, main aur papa safed kurta pajama pahan kar kheton main tahalne ke liye jaaya karte the. Aur main papa ko apne school ke kahaniyan sunata tha. Papa aaj miss ne bola ki will ka matlab "Iccha-Shakti" hota hai. Par papa will to I will wala will hai. Phir yeh Iccha-Shakti kaise hua ? We would follow a Paggandi, in the wheat fields. Sometimes I would wave my hand over them, feeling their touch. Sometimes they would be taller than me.
When possible, I would stretch my eyes far and wide, to look at the moonlit fields.
I remember the times, when we had moved to the city, when I would run to the terrace to find out if the moon had come out, so that mummy could do her "Chand ko Urk(U as in fur) Dena".
And spending the night on the terrace, talking useless talks with a friend, or a cousin.
In my last days in clemson, I occassionaly used to go lie down in the Bowman Field, watching the moon, perhaps humming a hindi oldie.
I guess the moon has always been with me. It brings me a sense of peace. A feeling of beauty. A peace, that perhaps is a part of me.
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