Ruskin cannot die...

 It was just last week that I got to know from a friend that Ruskin had died, to put it in right words 'Ruskin Bond' had died. Well, like any other person would do, I went into a denial mode. He is too dear to me to be dead. I didn't dare check google or other sources, I didn't want to witness the death of an era...my era!

It had rained that night. After hearing this news, I walked back to my home. The earth was wet and the petrichor was just the need of the moement, the only need. The gravel path glistened as the light from the mercury lamp flikered on the little pools of water that had formed in the recesse of the path. The trees that lined the path gently swayed form side to side as the breeze caressed their souls. WIth each move, the leaves would pour the blessings that they had received from the clouds.

I could see latana bushes and the beings that called them their home. A temporary chaos had sent all of them running here and there looking for shelter. There were brown rabbits whose long ears twitched every now and then as they heard a faint rumble, then there was a dray of squirrels standing below an almond tree busy eating raw nuts that had fallen on the wet ground as a result of the thunderstorm. On one side, the birds raised a ruckus flapping themselves dry and on the other side grasshoppers, crickets and toads started on a high note with their much practised euphonies.

It felt good to be so close to nature. It was the homecoming. At a distance I saw the walls of a bungalow, aflame with flowering bouganvellia, my grandfather's house. I could see the smoke emanating from the chimney leaving behind the thin streaks of its existence amidst the light drizzle. A scent of fresh curry leaves fried in the mustard oil hung loose in the air, I knew my grandma had cooked my favourite curry. I couldn't wait to get back home and enjoy the warm fireplace. It was already dark and it was time to sit beside my granpa on his rocking chair and listen to his potpourri of stories from the days of the yore as he smoked his pipe.

As I was about to take another step toward home, the lantana bushes gave way to neatly cut hedge. There were no rabbits or squirrels. Even the birds had stopped chirping. The almod tree gave way to well maintained, tall palm trees and the gravel path miraged into a polished marble path. The rain this time was odourless, you could only see it but not smell it. There was no bungalow, only tall skyscrapers around and a dim light lit my balcony on the 18th floor. Yes, the smoke was there but its existence was owed to the presence of a factory nearby. There were only small seasonal flowers that lined the path. And then it dawned upon me that I lived alone in my flat while my grandparents were miles away from me. Reality thwarted the dream bubble.

So, what was all that? Was I hallucinating? Of course not. This was Ruskin Bond speaking to me. He had given me power to manifest dreams into reality. He had told me once that my eyes would only see what I want them to see. He had induced in me the power of imagination. And that was all that was showing up today as I thought of him.

Ruskin Bond, that's what the world calls him, had been my friend ever since I came into this world crying. It was then when his lores made me smile and yearn for life. When I was a child, he made me love my grandparents even more. They were my superheroes. My grandfather was the embodiments of the old man from the stories who used to tell stories and take me for long walks in the fields and the forests. We used to have fun together. My gradmother was the personification of the old irritable lady from the stories who never wanted pets in her house, who was a cleanliness freak. And how I can forget about the banyan tree! It had walked into my life straight out of the pages, only to help me lead the life which Ruskin had said I would.

When I was a teenager, a young girl to be precise, I felt beautiful, because Rusty made me feel so. Rusty was my first love, he made me stare out my window and daily scan the empty road that meandered through woods and paddy fields and search for my prince charming. He had told me that love was all about sharing food, going to picnics and having someone to tell all my secrets, like the marble beads that I had colleted in one of my grandma's pot which even she was unaware of. But I never looked at that road, because I had him, Rusty, my first love...

When I grew up even more and moved away from my family for studies, he made me yearn for the love of my parents. My dad became my hero and I thought of the time when he would take me for ice-cream on a warm summer day and when he would take me for a ride on his blue scooter on a windy day. I missed the time when he made me wear woollens and we sat in open and chatted for hours as the sun played hide and seek with the leaves. His strong hand would take care of my little palm as we help hands. I missed the time when my mother held me tenderly and placed a gentle kiss on my forehead, when she dressed me in good clothes and made me smell so good. I dreamt of the time when my mother played hide and seek with me the moment she came back from the office and the long Sundays that we would spend in the zoo, doing nothing, just laying on the cool green grass and playing games. He made me miss my little brother who was there with me all through my childhood, my partner in all the crimes!

My life is a piebald story with beautiful patches of Ruskin and Rusty here and there. He tought me how to live, laugh, love and get lost in the gift of life. He made me what I am today. As long as I am alive, he'll breathe life intomany more stories. I am happy becasue I know that Ruskin can never die...

Dear Rusty,

You'll always be present with me. As I write this note, I know you are watching over to make sure I weave a cradigan of memories, in a good way. I know that you'll be there when it rains the next time so that we can make our own dream world and splash in the pools of muddy water. But make sure, grandma doesn't know about it, otherwise she would be aflame with anger! If she does, then we'll scoot off on Bansi's tonga, okay? See you soon!

Love,
The girl from your stories