Life is a lot, too much actually, to live, and write about. In it keys are lost, cars run dry, degrees have to be got, puppies fed; people drop out of lives and colleges, moving on has to be started, a favorite color picked, medicines taken, a holiday is to be paid for. Life is too much.
But then there are moments. Under a tamarind tree. Little children and a dog. Then a little you and one more dog. A lady comes to pick the tamarinds that have fallen on the ground. She will sell them maybe. The evening sunlight falls on her, filtering through the tree, a familiar light that seems accustomed to lighting her skin every day; Becoming sour as it passes, in a summer way. The little boys laugh and dogs squabble into each other. One black, one golden. The black one is tinier, the golden dirtier. They are all running in circles and ahead at the same time. One of the boys is talking to the dog.
“You are my friend, you take MY ball, you don’t run past me. No! Friends don’t behave like that.”
“We should both hold the leash. So none of us falls.”
Friendships have been made, rules are being established under the tree. If you look a little beyond, you can see a tiny hut that the boys built out of cane and discarded sarees of their mothers. Violet, pink, and yellow with red flowers. If you look carefully, you will see colorful garbage, throw away plastic flowers for decor, a gunny bag doubled as a sofa, marbles lie in a corner. When the breeze flows, you can smell laughter with traces of forgotten homework and shared jokes. The dust too, rises, in a playful way, asking for participation in the game.
On this weighed down back of a life full of unpaid bills, long forms, and loud co-passengers, this moment (of unmade love, old movies, shared beer, bad dances, a common sunlight, an exclusive friend) like a feather, settles.