A tale about my short retirement

Anything can happen to you in your life. It can be fantastic, mind buggling , spine tingling or just a big BAD. You can have surprises or accidents, failure or success , luck like getting a lottery or mishaps like missing your flight to a distant island for your vacation. I have started writing in a way that seems to me random but I am around a fact that made me going into the deep melancholy of life after a sudden declination in my career graph . I believe it is just a slight declination! I will not name this as my failure . It can't be an accident too. It is a kind of whirlpool of circumstances that were just not manageable by me. Some situation appeared where I was not able to do something that I was not aware of to be done. I will say that I was in such a situation where I was expected to do something but could never guess what was the expectation. The thing that happened to me sounds like the word 'paradox'. It existed and at the same time I thought it did not exist at all ! It is different , isn't it?

I believe now that everything that happens has some beautiful purpose and now as a result of that I am having a short retirement at a small hilly town in the valley of Alps. This is a time of silent retreat in the vastness of the valleys.

At this point of life what I mostly remember is about a girl ,cycling in a small hilly town passing by the small hillocks, small but deep woods , big old trees with wild orchids hanging on the branch , listening to the sound of wild winds and observing small details of the beautiful nature of her home town. She was a girl who always enjoyed loneliness and wondered why people say they get bored staying alone. She was a girl who loved everything about her small passions in life ..small passions like decorating her home, cleaning the nuke and cranny, small passions like talking to her plants and singing loudly in the backyard to believe that she can sing in the highest pitch and her voice can reach to the higher tones of Sargam. She was a girl who loved to be with trees,in trees and to be like trees. She had made the trees as her sole ideal, no person and no great men of the history ,but trees. She loved climbing up trees and looking at the sky and enjoy some fresh fruits like the rawest guava and mango and feel the richness of taste. Try tasting the rawest, and it has a bitterly peculiar taste ,a taste that is very new and fresh. She had mastered to bring beauty even in the most deprived seasons at her home. She liked a lot to make beautiful bouquets out of anything and she liked most the wild grass shoots and tiny wild flowers, whether dry or fresh and she was a master of putting bouquet at every place .She used to put tiny ones pasted in her diary and some on the back of the greeting card envelopes she made for her friends.

Apart from cycling and making bouquets, she also used to be absorbed in writing letters , letters very long and may be smallest ones , the ones with just two lines and a few words ...but meaningful and random, something like abstract art or intelligent quotes in Readers Digest. Her diary contained small biographies of the people around her... and she wrote almost every ways of how to comfort them and how to deal with them. She wrote diary almost anytime she liked, in the morning, sometimes in the afternoon and sometimes the whole day. She was not a writer though and certainly not a creative writer at all ! but she wrote as if she is born to write . She wrote about her mental conflicts in her adolescence, and about how to avoid sexual thoughts and about how to avoid sleeping too much or too little. She was obsessed with the 'how tos' many times a day. She used to be everything in a day like confused, wise, thoughtful, imaginative, creative, day dreamer and also meditative. Well...a lot of things used to happen in her quiet world..and she used to write about every little thing that touched her. Stories too happened in her life!!

A little story did happen certainly due to her small , creative hand made cards given to cheer up her computer partner to succeed in an assignment. There was a guy who wrote to her that he liked her as she looked very different in crowd. He loved her because she was different. Well ...that story did not continue as the girl who was very particular about her authentic taste of everything, could not be capable of loving him. It was again her different attitude like having the thought of not marrying anyone because of her thousands of activities in a day. Still she thought about that guy quietly because he was the first one to propose her though lately , when she was already 20 where as all most all her friends got proposed by many guys from the age of 16 itself . Well this event made her realized about another facet of her personality and she thought about femininity of a girl who thinks she is a boy. She smiled a lot ..laughed loudly at this. She laughed because she was different.

There was so much to say about this girl, a self reliant and bright girl. She was whimsical and she was happy.Now I miss her..miss that girl who kissed every tree she liked and paid attention to every tiny flower on the way to woods. I am missing her and at the same time in a process of reviving her in this valley of alps. I wonder about the dynamic landscapes of high mountains and the rare wild flowers of the valleys. Every dimension of this place has something to tell you and take your breath away. While traveling in the train, I felt like those grayish white mountains are live and dynamic with their rapid changing shapes. I felt as if they are just rushing in to speak to me. They have wonderful shapes. Shapes that are stiff and curvy at the same time. They looked simple and at the same time mysterious. I just happened to see the color of the lakes in the mountains and all the lakes have the same aqua green transparent serenity in them. I can now again discover the girl who used to shed tears even with each falling leaf from a tree. She used drop tears out of intense emotions like sometimes the way you feel at some music concerts at the artist's experiments at some odd beats.

It is after such a long time that the girl is writing...and she is missing that crystal clarity of the words of her diary. Well, she will revive slowly ..and I believe she has started to be happy again with her small passions in life.

It rained in Alps and now cold winds hitting my face from the open window panes.