I have lived in a metro for a few years now and some segments of this experience haven’t changed with time. Life in the city is fast. In order to keep up with the pace, most people without any realization drop a lot and leave it on the course. Everyone is striving to move along and therefore, what is fallen is never picked up. My state of transition throughout the year gives me different outlooks for this pell-mell city life.
Coming from the other extreme of the spectrum, where proximity to nature and fresh, pure air comes as naturally as pollution and feigned lives in the city; for me the contrast between the two ends is striking. As I walk around the city or my hometown, I never fail to catch up on the prejudices that people on both extremes have for each other. Amidst all this speculation, I am certain of the idea: experiences of nature keep sanity and authenticity intact in us. They give us a reason to stop running madly to the point where we tire the life in us and become jiggered, indignant souls. They are our fleecy mink blankets that we wrap ourselves with, for calm and comfort.
I am neither against living in a concrete jungle nor do I promote residing in a densely covered deodar forest. However, I believe in keeping one’s immediate environment a little brown with soil and fulgent green with dangling plants. This idea is not to be solely propagated because the world is dying and it is our duty to be concerned. I suggest this practice so that one can look at the world with kind eyes. The viridescent and brown surroundings are not an experience to be jotted down in one’s journal. It is a lifestyle to be adopted. The compassion it brings to the heart along with patience and politeness is priceless.
Every time I leave my hometown, I wish to load my pockets with soil which I can sprinkle over the city like some magical powder that will seep into the roots of the cemented, never ending buildings and make them thrive in the wind. I also hope for a little bit of the soil to fall on people and find place in their pockets. Soil is humble; it goes with the wind, softens in the rain to fill your homes with petrichor, fills every hand equally without any damage and greets you with pristine life if you nurture it. It is giving all the way. And as long as the mountains are, I will refill my pockets with all kinds of soil and carry it with me to every city I go.
The city inhabitants shouldn’t consider this an invitation to the mountains for I am scared they might bring concrete with them.
paridhij 