Those days before play stations and x boxes took over the world, kids played mostly outdoors in the available spaces in their neighborhood. My friends and me played cricket in an empty plot adjacent to a house in which lived a savage old man.Watching us pesky children play he always grunted, grumbled and yelled from time to time . He was jangled by our reverberating peals of laughter and hooting that sent disturbing ripples in his peaceful ambiance. Eventually he would cut short our fun and frolic and drive us away. After our innumerable pleads for another chance and some more time were always mercilessly denied, we would leave cribbing of how little time we had to play and how fast those happy moments flew by.

On one ominous day a friend of mine hit a ball that broke a window pane of the old man’s house.As anticipated he came down on us heavily , chiding us in a tirade for the next few minutes that lasted like hours. Strangely this time around time turned sluggish and we cringed through every slipping second that seemed like eons.

Now years later I recall the day we were chastised more vividly than the remaining days .It set me wonder how happy moments leave us light-hearted and hence at times dissipates in the corridors of our memory. Unlike grief which makes us heavy ¬†leaving potholes that your thoughts cannot overlook. Therein lies the Irony of this another , savage old man named Time: his fleeting touch of joy ; and his lasting grip of grief. Savage isn’t?



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