Revelling in glory of the monsoon moment
The hot weather being at its peak, clouds and rain were such a welcome respite, compelling the soaring temperatures to take a sudden dip. The cool breeze and cessation of rain made the garden chair look so inviting. Thick clouds were still hanging around, preventing the sun from looking down harshly, giving the setting an ethereal aura. All freshly bathed occupants of our little garden were exuberance personified and was their ecstasy infectious? Oh, it was too good to be true! In these modern and mechanical times, such moods are hard to come by. So there I was among my celestial spry green pals and what are emeralds compared to them!
All plants were vying with one another to attract my attention. The flower-laden jasmine (chameli) bush, with its roots firm in the ground but smartly perched atop our boundary wall, became the centre of my gaze. Its exquisite perfume was permeating the air. I tried to count its flowers but in vain as they were just too many. I was unable to decide whether their star-like appearance or sweet fragrance was superior.
As I sat revelling in the glory of the moment, William Wordsworth’s poem, Daffodils, came to mind. Though I know half the poem by heart, I had an urge to read and appreciate it once again. I got up to get Francis Turner Palgrave’s ‘The Golden Treasury’ of the best poems in English language. My father, who considered good books the best gifts, had given it to me about three decades ago.
Back in the garden, I went through this extraordinary piece by the nature poet, at least thrice, savouring each word. You cannot marvel enough at the sublime description of flowers and their surroundings. I have studied the poem during graduation and many times thereafter. But now reading it again after a long time, put it in a different light altogether, making me realise how the passing years change our perspective. I started comparing my present state to that of Wordsworth’s during the sojourn. The jasmine flowers offered some magical moments. It’s only that I don’t have the competence to immortalise my experience like the worthy poet.
When I finished reading Daffodils, I felt as if I had just enjoyed the best of both worlds, Wordsworth’s and my own. I too hope to recollect the spectacle in the times to come whenever the need arises.
Soon, the sun took over from the clouds and I got up to go inside but not before repeating the poet’s lines: “…I gazed -and gazed -- but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought…”
THICK CLOUDS WERE STILL HANGING AROUND AND ALL FRESHLY BATHED OCCUPANTS OF OUR LITTLE GARDEN WERE FULL OF EXUBERANCE