The train took a sudden stop before Haldwani.
“What is it?” I got up and saw Adi quietly looking out of the window.
“Papa, a station has come but there is no one on it. All I hear some bells ringing?” Adi keeps talking about the voices he believes he hears.
“No and it’s not a station beta, we are at outskirts of Haldwani. Let us start packing. We should reach in few minutes”.
“It’s there Papa. You don’t hear”. Adi shook his head.
“Oh I do beta. But we need to rush”.
I was wrong. And I was lying. The train stood at the outskirts for around half an hour. And I didn’t actually hear anything ringing. Perhaps I wasn’t quiet or open enough.
I found later that on the other side of the train was a temple and actually the bell rang.
Surrounded with past nostalgia, current struggle and uncertain future we end up accumulating and submitting to all our emotions. And in that we fail to hear the sound.
But there are songs to all of them. Songs of an old loss or love, of pain or misfortune, self-inflicted or caused by others, shared or kept within the heart. Songs those help us forgive ourselves as we hear them*.
Perhaps we aren’t as difficult as we pretend to be. We owe a tryst to self acceptance, of whatever we are, however we are and wherever we are. Complains must stop, burdens must go, as we learn to enjoy the present with an open heart and resolute mind.
I go among trees and sit still.
All my stirring becomes quiet
around me like circles on water.
My tasks lie in their places
where I left them, asleep like cattle…
Then what I am afraid of comes.
I live for a while in its sight.
What I fear in it leaves it,
And the fear of it leaves me.
It sings, and I hear its song.