I was fortunate enough to have been born and brought up in a place where the sky was not one faded grey blanket of city lights, dust and pollution where the stars were dull spots, and the moon lost in the mass of grey smoke. For the first 18 years of my life, I have lived in a hill-station, on the slope of a hill with nothing immediately in front of our house. Below our house, after some space, on the hill was another house, and further below, another. There ended the hill, and started another, this time upward. So basically, the moment we opened our doors and stepped into the verandah, there were no buildings or obstacles to keep away the fresh breezes.
Like every other hill-station, the houses were not so near, with the spaces in between occupied by pine trees, and other kinds of vegetation. About a kilometer away, right in front, was a house at exactly our level, and further away, of course, there were valleys and other hills. The most tangible physical feature was a range of mountains pretty far away which occupied most of our western sky view. Our house faces the Northern and Western sky, and hence every evening, we could witness the sunset, provided the weather was in a happy mood.
In the evenings, my mother used to love to walk in the verandah (she still does), watching the sky create its magical spectacle of sun rays, clouds and stars. I must have gotten that from her - love of nature, a feeling of being so small in this vast universe, a feeling of contentment and good fortune that I could see such heavenly beauty almost everyday.
When I was small, my mother had once floated in a superstition in my mind – that in the evening, if one sees a single star and enters the house (without seeing a second star), one is bound to be part of a fight. That fear, coupled with not wanting to miss any part of the glorious sunsets, had made me a permanent occupant of the verandah, right until the sky was dark, and all but a few patches of red and orange had disappeared.
When I was a little older, my Mother told me the reason behind the superstition, that perhaps way back, when the superstition was first told, the wise men must have thought that people should stay outside in the evenings, to breathe the fresh air, and had started this illogical rule. Anyway, by that time, I had become an irreversible fan of nature, and didn’t really mind the mild deception. In fact, deep inside, I was glad for it.
Those evenings will remain indelibly in my memory….
Apart from those evenings, my Mother and I shared the beauty of another glittery canvas… which happens so frequently that people forget to notice; The Night sky.
Sometimes, for absolutely no reason, we’d be in the verandah at night….especially if it was a really clear night, or it was slightly warmer than usual. The cool winds would rid us of all discomfort and I’d again start looking skywards. At home, like I said before, the sky was darker, and the stars more defined, as if each trying to show off its jeweled exterior. Besides the sky, all the mountains at the western and northern horizon had buildings, the lights of which shone from the distance. It was like another sky below the horizon; Sometimes, the sky and the land would all seem to merge into one… the tiny lights miles away and the majestic stars millions of light years looked alike.
On some rare nights, when there was a sudden power-cut in the whole area due to some electric fault somewhere, the darkness was enchanting.
If it was a moonless night, there was total darkness in whichever direction one looked, except heavenwards. And what a sight it was up there! Millions of diamonds engraved on one sheet of black…millions of possibilities waiting to be discovered..
If it was a moony night, then it seemed like a mild tube light had been turned on in the sky, bathing very object with its silvery rays. All the distant buildings, trees, lampposts would be coloured in shades of grey, with any surface of metal glimmering without any harsh intensity. It would look unearthly.
I often wished I could capture the vision somewhere, so as to never forget, and to always see…that was never to happen… no camera could capture the awe or the magnificence….that was only to experience..
And then, once power was restored, lights would be blinking in every direction, again creating the alternate sky. As my mother would be calling me inside, I would be torn between wishing power was gone again and being glad that it was back. (Why glad?? Well…there would be some TV serial that I would not have wanted to miss .. )
Even now, when I live in a different place, I often remember those halcyon evenings, those starry nights.
I can still feel the wind chilling my face, while I look westwards.
I can still hear the silence, a pressure cooker going off at a distant kitchen is the only tangible sound, besides the sound of crickets, far away cars,
I can still experience the peace of mind….
Back then, I had often wished I had a camera with me… so that I could store every beautiful sunset, every single ray… But I didn’t. Now when I do have one (a simple one on my cell-phone), I’m not in that place anymore…I go there once in a while, and the last time I went, I clicked to my heart’s content.
For me, the camera is my source of creativity….and I use it at the oddest of times…
----on the way back from office..
------from the terrace at 2 am in the morning…
--------on the road, stuck in traffic….
It’s like maybe I’m trying to capture all the beautiful sights I see… to compensate for those lost skyscapes…..
