Childhood memories..

When I look back and think of our time in S, there are soo many lovely memories that come to my mind.

Plum Tree Blossoms ..the name of this blog is a slice of one such memory. Every year, when we returned from our three month long winter vacation and we climbed out of the car, into the chilly S cold, I would stand mesmerized at the sight that lay before my eyes….the steps leading to our house, would be covered in white petals of the blossoms of the towering plum tree. It was such a pretty sight. For a child in her pre-teens, the steps seemed like they were covered in snow in pristine white...

Sheer white blossoms

fragile and feathery

float by

The gentle breeze hums along

holding them aloft

Caressing their tender petals

guiding them

As they gingerly land 

on the damp earth beneath

The plum tree stood amongst a thick cover of rain –forest like foliage in aunty M’s tiny, unkempt garden. As a child, I don’t remember venturing into it---it always presented a rather foreboding picture—never knowing what lay beneath the tall grasses and the prickly shrubs hugging the tall trees.

I remember it as dark, damp and soggy—so unlike what a garden should actually be. Other than the plum tree, aunty M, an avid gardener that she was, also had a Magnolia Tree (a creamish-white flower with huge petals that had a powdery texture and a sweet fragrance), a clump of camellia trees and rose plants in all hues.

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There was a beat up, light blue fiat parked in aunty M’s garage—never saw anyone drive it, ever. She had a fondness for cats and they lived with her, in her huge house—curling up under her quilt, sipping tea that was left over in her cup and perching high up on the window sill—looking nonchalantly, as life passed by.

On particular evenings, when the wind blew, the tall conifers lining the road would come alive, as if to whisper the secrets of times gone by. I haven’t really heard swaying trees sounding the way they did in Sh...

Another sound that I associate with Sh, is that of an open window swaying back and forth, ever so slightly in the breeze. The sound emanating from the steel hook that restrains the window from breaking free and smashing into the iron grills. I don’t hear that sound very much these days….and whenever I do, I always think of Sh.

Sounds and sights, people and places—memories, big and small—always keeps me going. Sometimes they come back, creeping stealthily catching me unawares and pulling me back in time, to relive the moment..as it were..