It was a scorching summer as usual. Every year I’ll be in my home town during the May-June to join my family enjoying the school vacations. The first spell of rains to touch the Indian sub-continent is always a prerogative of the God’s own country. And what a scene it is. As a school student the reopening will invariably coincide with the rush of monsoon. The intimidating clouds will overcast the skies and the children already reeling under the lethargy of a month long vacation are put into a sadistic discomfort by the pouring heavens. The smell of new books, the aroma of fresh rains and the creases of new clothes. The nostalgia never leaves me.
What generally follows the first day of rain is an evening full of moths. The lights are put out to avoid the fury of moths. Instead a lighted lamp is kept inside a vessel full of water. The moths get attracted to the light and get immersed in the water. The moths even otherwise had only a day’s lifespan. I’ve always fought with my Grandma, questioning her why cut short an already fragile life cycle. Grandma used to say that it’s the light that prompts the moth to fly. Otherwise it will die under the wet soil. “Anyway they are destined to die, but I’m giving their life a purpose”, she philosophically answered me as a tit for tat.
Having now lived more than half of a human being’s normal lifespan, I strongly feel we are no different from these moths. Life’s challenges keep us running like that lamp did to the moths. Without those hurdles we would’ve been mentally dead long back, if not physically.
Fragile lives we all have, tell me one thing which is here to stay.