HOBBED BRACING CUCKOO

 I often hark back to those days when the cuckoo would tune itself to its love song. And I would cuddle in my mama's warm nest and plant her a kiss. Those were the days of serendipity. With the arrival of monsoon comes the sweet smell of the earth. The petrichor emanating from the flower beds and the paddy fields. These are the memories of the days I spent as a child. How great it is to wait for the sweety showers? We would wait for hours to collect the bucket full of ripe mangoes from grandpa's paddy fields.

The fragrance of these events gets somehow lost today amidst the hurly-burly of life. Do I sound plaintive when I open up my heart reflecting back upon these halcyon days today, which gave me so much of blissfulness as a child?

Caught in the hustle-bustle of the tech-savvy world, life today has moved miles ahead. There is too much of higgledy-piggledy around.No longer do I get enough time to let myself hypnotize to the sound of the cuckoo. Yet I keep searching and someday in a sleepy afternoon, it welcomes me to a world where I yonder over green pastures, chasing my childhood.