An air-conditioned memory

Raju Korti

One never knows the true value of a moment until it becomes a memory. In my idle and limited wisdom I have often labored with words to fine-tune some of them from the complex maze and miscellany congesting my mind. By cushioning those flashes of time with a liberal tempering of Teflon-coated words, I am lucky to find happenstances to celebrate them.

 

As I peeked out of my balcony early this morning to a dark, intensely wet morning in the backdrop of green hills that my sights were treated to, there was a sense of deja vu. The ambience quickly deported me to that one-hour stay in the Panhala hills nestled close to the beautiful city of Kolhapur. A cousin was kind enough to lend his chauffeur-driven car for a quick visit to the place before I returned to the monotonous and mechanical life of Mumbai. The 20-odd km distance meandered through a narrow, serpentine road that seemed to warm up to the presence of the few people using them.

Panoramic would be an understatement to describe the theater I was exposed to when I reached the hills. The human habitation was fenced by a short Gothic wall from where you could marinate your bland mind and beaten body with Nature providing all the aromatic spices to perk you up or else jump to your death if you had morbid thoughts. I chose the first more out of fear than judgment.

For from the madding crows and away from the hustle bustle of the metropolis, when you feel rejected and are left alone to steal a few moments of solitude and reflection, nothing like the Mother Nature's lap. Reclining against the stone wall of the historic Panhala fort, I soaked in its adventurous mystique, esoteric but cool climes, flitting rain drops and breath-taking imagery. The Nature stood tall and handsome, making the houses below look Lilliputian. Before you could compose an ode to Nature's disposition, it changed its temper.

As the rains started beating down faster, the scene that looked so pristine a few minutes before, suddenly turned alarmingly frightening. The swooshing high-velocity winds with rain drops as big as the size of marbles made me stagger to a make-shift eatery. Nothing was visible as a blanket of heavy fog and biting cold gripped me. I could hear more than see glasses, chairs and tables falling down violently. Never having experienced this calamitous avtaar of the Nature, I panicked and thought it was an apocalypse until a hand patted on my agitated shoulders. "Saheb, chaha hawa kaa?" (Sir, you want tea?). For the life of me I couldn't figure out how someone could locate me in the midst of this blinding mist. I just nodded dumbly. I had tightly gripped a nearby pole to escape being hurled away by the marauding winds and rains. The next 20 minutes told me what chilling fear is all about. In those horrendous moments I died several times. 

A little later everything cleared. A sixty-plus woman walked up to me with a steaming hot cuppa and a plate of pakodas. There was an amused look on her face as if nothing had happened. Seeing me shivering in my pants she steadied me saying this was routine during the rainy season. The tea calmed me down but the nerves remained frayed. The Nature had returned to its benign Bishop looks once again but I was too over-wrought to admire its concocted beauty. My one thought was to escape as quickly as possible before another assault took place. I quickly got up from my chair, paid the bill and sprinted to the car where my driver was waiting for me.

Looking back, I feel it was all so surreal. The Nature's complexion I saw this morning seemed to call out for two happenstances -- similar circumstances and experienced on the same day. They came with an education: That anger and retribution are the revenge of the Nature for the violation of its laws. I call it an air-conditioned memory. Think people, think.