…childhood memories of walking home from school, soaked to the bone in the monsoons, munching on a butta...
…popping the sour, jeera-golis, in class dodging the teacher’s eye and then bursting into glee at the silly little adventure…
…hearing the Kokila coo unexpectedly in the trees that line the busy, chaotic, crazy Mumbai roads…
… reading a book with guilty pleasure, late into the night with a torch under the blanket, lost in magical worlds…
And then one grows up but surely that’s no reason to not find joy…?
…the sight of a plump baby cooing away, the purity of it’s soul so evident in it’s shining eyes…
…the majesty of unassuming trees standing by hot, dusty roads; to notice their undemanding beauty, their quiet shade, offered to whoever so craves…
…the descent of quietness as the sun sets, and a frothy cloud of Saffron and Magenta streaks the sky…
…and in the seeming darkness of night, in the depths of our souls, when little stars twinkle, to notice their unchanging ethereal magic, in a constantly changing world….
…and forget the petty quarrels that mar our lives…
…to remember, Joy is always possible….