Days of play: An ode to old friends
A remembering of old friends
The other day a friend of mine told me of a visit from an old companion of his college days.
‘After his departure,’ he said, ‘my heart felt sad wondering when we would meet again.’
We have all known days like that in our mass-migration times. I have known days like that where nostalgia mingles with the happiness of the encounter and the melancholy of the inevitable goodbye.
I wrote some words after such a day.
Days of Play
In the house open to the cool sky, where no two days were the same; for our imagination could turn a stick into a sword; a handkerchief into Sindbad’s scarf; a jump from a chair dropped us into mysterious caves; a climb on the bed scaled into mountains.
We weren’t after the gold. Though the pirate colours we donned.
It was the adventure that was awaited, mateys!
Those step-ups, step-downs, swings around the roundabouts, balloon fights, and flying kites. Frolicking in the sunshine, playing indoors, playing outdoors. The ludo. Mario. Cops and robbers, and plucking of flowers. Movies we watched. Memories we made. Talked till goodbye was late. Together we made those summer days. A thing of beauty that’ll last forever. And ever in the midsummer, coming winter, gone autumn, and returned spring we meet—the brothers who were once just kids. And when we meet again, the old days awaken with a shake.
There we are again: remembering; sharing the latest joys, and time falls away.
Today was a good day.
– Rohtash
