Sonia

He used to live behind my house. His name was ‘Sonia’. I am unsure of this being his real name as it’s highly probable that someone might have joked about this back in the past and the name latched itself on him.
By keeping all of his stuffs beside him, he used to stay with our livestock in the barn. No member of my house ever asked him to move out from the place. From his youth to death, he lived just in there.
Short in height with face covered with long gushing beard, wearing old outwore drapes; he used to smile ear to ear, flashing the only visible bones in the body.
He used to shave once or twice in a year. That to, when he was taken away by his well to do brothers. They were real brothers and were doing really good with their lives. So Sonia came from a fine family of neighboring village. But as it appeared, he loved to live in this very way only. It became a routine for us to see his brothers taking him back to his home once in every quarter of all the years and he, out of his attractions and unfulfilled fantasies, always ran back from to the cattle shelter, which he felt to be his true home.
He never begged, although he asked for food at our home and sometimes with one or two neighbors. If somebody else offered him daily needs, like carry bags, news papers, bottles and more drapes, he used to accept those as a sign of gratitude towards the donor. Like gratuity in reverse it was, which floated to the donor from the recipient.   
He was a foodie, since with usual Roti sabji, dal and rice, he needed pickles as well. If he disliked the vegetables then it appeared clearly from his shrinking eyebrows and incomprehensible mumbling in Marathi. Along with the impure Marathi of the region, he was able to construed English at a beginner’s level, indicating that he dropped out from school early.      
The fear of our childhood from him gradually vanished and it became a matter of laughter for me and my friends later in our adolescence. The scare crow was no more but was now a part of many strings which connects the dots to the core of childhood memories.  
With every year that passed, I saw his beard becoming lose threads of silver overlapping each other as if covering a scar underneath. The Youthful years were far behind him. The colonies children had started mocking him and he could do nothing but mumble in the same old incomprehensible impure Marathi.
He survived two brutal accidents, as later in his life he became insomniac and started wandering alone in the dark black nights of Amgaon. Alone on the road he used to walk carrying his luggage of two or three sacks. Like a Santa Claus, contemplating his plans for coming Christmas, his luggage rattled and awoke many dogs who had somehow managed to squeeze under the resting trucks at the sides of road.  He might be trying hard to run the rusted nerves out of years of no use.
During two such walks he was interrupted by collisions from opposite driving vehicles. The doctors were aware of his presence as well. Whenever he was rushed to hospital, doctors treated him without charging any fees. They also grew watching him wandering around in the village and like me, their childhood memories had his impressions as well.
I know so much about him, even though it’s never been discussed or talked about but mere seen as passing of events as we see ourselves growing. We don’t talk about ourselves with others much and nowadays, even so less with oneself, yet, God has considered this in his divine plan and made us aware of ourselves by making a conscious-unconscious in the mind, which keeps the images without letting you know of its presence.  Out of so many images of Sonia, out of so many situations I have seen him into, one situation deludes me or should I say, the absence of one such image deludes me. Absence of which makes me curious of its imaginary presence.
You see, Sonia wasn’t religious nor he was spiritual. He could have sat in the same barn, contemplating over religious definitions, declare himself to be an ascetic. I am not saying it will be true. Because he was too far away from that. So what? There are so many self declared God-men. He could have come up with a new theory on theism. Only if- he was religious. But he was a selfish man. Who lived for his own personal purpose. To live. He was enjoying life.
Ok, I am not appreciating that kind of living. It is a waste if anyone lived like that. But there is one aspect of his miserable life that I can’t help but notice. The fact that, he never tried to have an influence on things which had never mattered to him. May it be religious, commercial or anything. He was content in whatever he was doing. Even if it constituents drinking a glass of water. With his whole energy, putting all of his thought at one place, he just used to drink that glass of water. So good he was at it!
I have seen people turning religious during the silver years of lives. But he was an exception to it. He stayed as he was. In the same barn. Moreover, that part of not trying to influence somebody to be like you-impresses! Its real. I have seen so many people who quote an example of themselves for things which shouldn’t be influenced at all. Though good influences are always welcomed, but those are like air, they travel on their own. One need not push a button for them to pass.  
After all of these, I didn’t try to allocate him in the section of right or wrong. I just wanted to think about his habit of staying content. And when I say content, I don’t mean to stop myself from working hard or from setting high aspirations. I just want to know, how much possessions one needs to be able to sustain calmly. Sustainable development it might be. How much will be enough?     

Same Steps

I am tall, at least that's what I thought until I got here and stood under the shadows of high mountains and hills, praying and worshiping along with others. That giant structures made me a good example of an old proverb, until I redeemed my ego and got up on their tip. 

But as I stood there, gazing over the vast clear horizon,  the time when strong winds can do nothing  but wrinkle my shirt, beneath of me laid endless layers of rocks and sand. And as they lay on each other, hiding the true colours, one can still see them at the sides and understand the amount of pain they are at. One can feel the hardened skin over the hills which never let anything hold on it for long, unless they carry the same hard nature. The water, which once fell from these heights, had made marks, noting its place, keeping reminded of the power it forces to draw such beautiful canals over the same hard, pained rocks.

The stone is so hard it leaves marks, even at its most soothing touch, which makes it more wonderful to understand the importance of patience. Patience, which drives the water, soft as the blown wind to make a child smile, to keep pushing, until the hard, non beings, flow with it.
      

But I wasn't at the star, the shimmering blue, oceanic sky, with cotton clouds, white and calm as the cows we bathed in childhood drenched the scene above me and  made me feel  tiny. Tiny in the infinite space and made me realise why at least a human life should extend far more than achieving the goals of survival. It should be such that the words, teachings and experiences, good or bad may be, passed on the next ours. Cause the universe shall always remain untouched by our efforts and prayers, its too vast to be contained in those. It has its own way of flowing. All we can do now is, preserve and cultivate what we have the best in our hands, the present itself.

Be fools  keep it restricted to their blood and the wise may relate to the whole race and work on it, not like an ascetic but like a 'Murtikar', working to make an idol which is worshiped for years, ignoring the legacy he belonged to, but considering the legacy he had created.

Then I looked at the stairs that  helped me climb this far. They had fainted in their color and had pointy rocks and rubble with broken, weary corners. But they were there, giving path to the pilgrims to rise. The efforts were after all by the people themselves, but the stairs guided them and made the hard travel possible. They are doing it for generations and doing it very well.

What made them so strong to hold the ground together, I asked the friend who accompanied me. An engineer by profession. He looked at me and then stairs and went on to give credit to the excellent use of  gravels, rocks, reinforcements, asphalt and maintenance. 

" Right from their making, to date, they are maintained in the best possible conditions, the labors in the company have sometimes worked in the restructure of certain grey areas, cause of obvious faith, before it decays altogether and become far from being corrected", he paused  for a moment and then continued  " Do you see the green lining over the walls ?" He pointed by his hand at the fort walls, over the tip of nearby hill. "Yes, they are visibly clear" I replied. " Well, the rain and heavy winds, causes great damage to the structure but they come and go. In the absence of those, these structures are decayed by these plants and fungus, growing above them, like parasites, weakening them, so the next time rain comes, it will hit harder, even when the applied forces are lesser.

The pathway had ended and were left to walk on the surface with increasing sign of damage by time, but he continued, looking at his feet, saving them from the thorns on way. " Temple Trust braces for the visible damages, but ignores the slow and rotting ones. They are inferior for their attention"

"So what's the best we have?" I asked.

"Once a strong structure is made, like the human body, it has to be protected, maintained and importantly, evolved, timelessly"!

I agreed to all but the idea of evolve seemed unfair for a Non living object, after all there is a reason we call it non living.

"Well " I cleared my throat and said "Height is making you a little dizzy I think"

"Do you think its funny to include evolution in it" he read the thoughts in my mind.

I just kept walking.

"A little" I replied when he kept pushing intangibly.

" I know it may sound awkward, but why can't they evolve ?" He asked  me for answer.

" Cause they are non -living first of all, and say if we agreed, who has the knowledge, patience and time to make them evolve." I answered. " And if someone has, why to waste talent restructuring the old ones, he may endure for something with his own name".

" That's true, but thats an easy path to choose, and the easy aren't the right ones always. If the old ones got corrupted and fell, they may become a higher threat to ourselves, so before the time come, let us make the change. Let us start the thought again and gain the ignored wisdom, "

" Debatable", I said  quizzically.

With eyebrows up, he wanted to turn back at my face, but changed his mind and with a sardonic smile said," ja jile apni zindagi" 

And before we can argue any further the long, ignored crowd, now came to life and started pushing from behind as the gates had opened for Darshan.

And then the whole shrine filled with chanting of 'Jai Malhar'.