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Snowfall and childhood

Snowfall and childhood
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By: TMR Mohsin

One fine morning, some days back, I sat on my room chair, adjusted the seat & landed my fists on the desk, leaned a bit forward to make myself in harmony to the studying position.

As I forwarded my hand to grab the book on the table , the pitch black hands of my wall clock inlaid with diamond shaped beads caught my sight. It was striking twelve.

After a brief hiatus, voices began emanating from all the dimensions– it was Friday; the didactic words of Imam sahab of the Masjid were being hurled afar into the atmosphere by the high frequency speakers.

He was in tears and sobs, invoking Allah’s mercy to beak the dry spell and to shower “Rahmat e Baraan” on us.

I was instantly recalled the eschatological prophesies of our beloved Prophet (saw) in the context of ‘Climate Change’.

I smirked, due to my own absurd interpretation, that all this is bound to occur. I, in my own thoughts, was pitying on the preacher…of being little aware that such dry- spells & other natural hazards are going to further exacerbate let alone hoping for otherwise.

Nevertheless, my wishful thinking was dashed just within a week. All the collective prayers metamorphosed into white flakes descended over the valley in the form of Rahmat e Baraan indeed.

On the Sunday morning, the undaunted Frostbitten winds not only trespassed on my room from the far right window (that I always keep open) , but also started rolling the cozy quilts of my sleep up. At first I resolved to resist such bone-chilling gusts of this intruder & began to turn the sides on the bed. In retaliation the wind stirred my earlobes and entered my nostrils, thus my plan to sleep for a little more came to a grinding halt. The intrusive winds managed to move me out of my hitherto cozy warm bed.

I was enraged, rushed to close the window. This was the only way out my semi conscious brain neurons could think of to chase away the interloper wind. I pushed curtains aside, pinched the nose of the snib to latch it.

The outside scene was no more the same as earlier. Nature had employed all its machinery to embellish the landscape. It was as if a wedding ceremony of some celestial couple was being arranged. The white divine carpets were crocheted & laid down over the vast swaths of land in full generosity to welcome the heavenly guests. The carpets were still being woven by the sky artisan with white ice crystals of varying shapes and sizes.

I retreated my hand and poked my head outside to let the calamorous wafts strike my eardrums. They were singing in chorus, I noticed, ” Farshi makhmal ba’e sajawe chaany’e mokhai

Aaytan zoo-jaan thavai chaany’e mokhai

Saalé yikhna maa’le hyeth yitchkaal goam

Haal kya chum laalé hawai chaany’e mokhai ”

[I will roll out the silk carpet in thy honour,

Will sacrifice my life for you in thy honour

Do come on my invitation, as it has been very long,

Will reveal my plight onto you my beloved in thy honour]

I was enthralled and as well as awestruck by their sonorous melodies so much so that I lost the sense of freeze which I stood to drive away a moment ago. My euphoria knew no bounds. I scuttered to join this cosmic wedding show. I went downstairs of the front veranda. All the salubrious environs were refurbished with royal white paint. Besides the white petals of divine flowers were still being showered from above by celestial nymphs.

Here my mundane world was awakening to the life which I feared would disrupt this ephemeral arrangement. I did not want to be pulled out of this ecstasy as soon. My “Inner Child” coerced me to let him play around awhile.

He became lost in his own wonderland ; and was hopping on the white blanket stretched for another purpose, thereby leaving beautiful marks of his punny feet. I too joined him—unmindful of the world around us. We began to carve out a small white ball from it and started rolling it on the floor: with every roll , the ball started devouring all the white stuff that came under its way which caused its size to swell…much like a black hole.

After a couple of circumambulations—gasping heavenly— I stopped. This inner child of mine must be mocking at my physical health, I imagined. After this brief pause, the naughty child started nudging me & I got what he was goading me for?

Upon finding everybody at home asleep, we started to chisel out a snow man. Later I changed my mind to snow woman. But this instigation was my own; my inner kid has nothing to do with this idea. He’s still unspoilt unlike many kids nowadays.

Anyhow, this artisanship teleported me back to my childhood days, when we as kids impassionately awaited the first snow , and as it happed, we used to create Bunkers in “Naalimanz” (flood channel) out of snow, laiden with full of white ammunition. The most lethal weapon ,infact only weapon, was Shingoll’e (snowballs).

In the meantime a voice of some footsteps crushing white crystals under long boots , I sensed. And my nostalgia tour was ended.

The voice of boot-steps were steadily growing louder. I fixed my gaze on a curvy edge of rust eaten tin roof of my neighbour’s house. I fastened the seat belt of my imaginative spaceship… waiting for its take-off to fly me and my inner kid into heights of snow bearing skies. But to my dismay, I could not soar higher ; the vicissitudes of life had made me forgotten this childhood skill to fly!

(The author holds a Masters in pub-administration)


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