"But listen to me. For one moment
quit being sad. Hear blessings
dropping their blossoms
Sometimes it's just mystifying, how things fall into place out of nowhere, almost nothing. Perhaps even more so than how they had fallen apart in the first place. But they just do, one by one, fragment by fragment.
Going through some archived folders of photographs, I chanced upon the Qutub Shahi tombs and like always, inched toward that instinct to post-process some. Although I've already written about these magnificent old tombs last August, I hadn't seen a certain connection between some pictures, not even when I was clicking them - that of the bougainvillea trails and the tombs. From a series of clicks, emerges a grand, ethereal view - first the minaret, then the dome and finally the whole tomb unfolds from the gossamer embrace of the papery pink blossoms. Photographic epiphany, perhaps?
Also, it has been a time to feel blessed. A time to trust that old, feathered thing called hope. The last week was quite unexpected, choked with tumultuous emotions. My Aja, maternal grandfather, was suddenly taken ill and the doctors suspected something rather bad. I was afraid we won't see that surprised, foggy-eyed smile that greets us every time at the clank of the big old gate. I was afraid there would be no constant gardener digging away obsessively and marveling at his own hard work. I was afraid how a tiny yet significant corner of our lives would change forever. And the worst of all - I was afraid how my dearest Aai will cope with it all, after some fifty odd years of steady togetherness. But surprisingly, during all this, the eighty-year-old Mathematics professor who has already braved three massive strokes refused to bow down, astonishing all with his beaming optimism. So, after a series of tests and doubts, the results came yesterday - he is alright! A flood of relief washed away the accumulated fear from our hearts, and I could hear the blessings dropping around us, in soft, blossomy paws.