Vasundhra and Grandpa-Gulistan (and not chaman) visit

Papa (Me, an observer in the drama): Vasundhra a little chubby daughter has been in talkative mood throughout the day. It has been lovely day for her, with assignments done, tasty food in the belly, little chats with friends being happy and now spreading her love around the home with us. Here She is with her grandpa.

Grandpa: (sitting on a sofa, with a cup of tea and some biscuits, enjoying a bit in his own world; walks to a balcony facing garden) Excited as he is, talks loudly of beautiful flowers, manicured little trees lining it and those seasonal plants in the centre exuding their green and other bright colours.

Vasundhra: (joins him in the balcony) How lovely is our little garden, grandpa?

Grandpa: Call it Gulistan...and not chaman.

Vasundhra: What is difference?

Grandpa: Gulistan means a beautiful large garden while Chaman is small one. Why call it little one, when my vision is far and wide for it.

Vasundhra: Thanks, Grandpa.

Grandpa: Yes, it is very lovely, beautiful Gulistan. I hear little voices coming from those trees and flowers.

Vasundhra: Yes, grandpa....I know you used to walk in, touch and tender the little flowers and plants, plant a new ones whenever you could find one and get for our garden.

Grandpa: Sure....I will often request my hosts whenever I am visiting them. Most will gladly part with, as they too felt happiness in sharing one or two plants.

Vasundhra: Did you come across some one denying?

Grandpa: Yes, but they did it gently, without hurting me a bit....I can understand how much they toiled in their garden and loved it as it developed.

Grandpa mumbles in his feeble voice:

gulon mein rang bhare, bad-e-nau bahar chale...गूलों में रंग भरें , बाद-ए -नौ बहार चले !

Chale bhi aao, ki gulashan ka karobar chale  चले  भी आओ की, गुलशन में करोबार चले (Credit: Youtube.com)

[English translation: Let the flowers have their colours, let there be a stream of clouds

----

Vasundhra: lovely

Grandpa: It is of Faiz Ahmad Faiz of Lahore.  A Great poet

 

Vasundhra: Grandpa, Is it not that nazm, "Hum Dekhenge, Hum Dekhenge....Lazim hai ki hum bhi dekhnge..हम  देखेँगे , हम  देखेँगे

लाज़िम है कि हम  भी देखेंगे

वो दिन  के जिसका वादा  हैं, हम देखेंगे

जो लोह-इ-अजल में लिखा  हैं , हम देखेंगे ." Faiz also wrote ?

Grandpa: Yes, Faiz was very sensitive poet, who knew delicateness of love and steely resolve.. he was not coward. His defiance extracted heavy price...(leading to bitterness, jail), yet he lived in his motherland...and ignited minds of millions...everywhere against injustice.

 

Vasundhra: (diverting mood sensing that it may become serious and emotive subject for grandpa) May I wheel you to the garden.

Grandpa: Ecstatic, cheers up.....and almost loudly says....Yes....Yes...

Vasundhra: (brings back a wheel chair.., tidy it...and help Grandpa to sit)

Grandpa: adjust himself in a chair.

[Me: Yelling at Vasundhra...Make sure to put on the belt...You are taking him down.

Vasundhra: Ignoring me....as I am perceived to be hypersensitive... Dil pe lagate ho.दिल पे लगाते हो]

Vasundhra and Grandpa reach the ground flour through a lift.

As she wheels away the chair, breeze sweeps across...as evening advances. Both sense relief....

At the entrance, it is zig zag iron clad gate, as no one with wheel chair can get in. The society had made this entrance to discourage the youngstars or and kids to bring in their little scooters (bicycle or push bicycles) and bikes. It is argued that it spoils the garden as little kids play. And this naturally extended to the elderly people, who had seen their prime youth in this environment.

Both Vasundhra and Grandpa are perplexed as Vasundhra who was regular visitor to garden did not visualize this hurdle for her grandpa. And grandpa did not know what to express... indifference, giving up, anger, I-damn-care attitude.

For the moment, they watched as they saw an old man dressed in white sitting on a bench, and some children playing..The old man will get up and walk a few steps and then get back to bench. What was he contemplating....Was he looking at us.....stranded outside like aliens...

Young beautiful lady absorbed in her thought near trees. Did she have an inkling of us knocking at entrance of Gulistan? (photo)......

 

Children laughing, shouting, yelling....What were they showing ......Gay and abandon .to tease us?...

Chirping sounds of birds was heard in between...., Will they wake us tomorrow morning too?

Hopping of butterfy from flower to flower to drink nectar was seen at the distance.......

Lemon butterfly: Credit Kadavoor wikipedia.org)

Movements of green leaves as winds shook them......as if they were on swing....

Few moments at the gate....were felt like hours in life passing so soon....as Vasundhra and Grandpa turned away...

In silence...in peace with one another.....until Vasundhra knocked the door of the home [that Grandpa bought decades ago].....that.... shattered.... the silence..... between...... two.

[dedicated to the wise men of the Society].

 Disclaimer: All characters are imaginary and if anything is related, it is just coincidance and without any malice towards any anyone.