It was the eve of Makarsankranti in Giridih when Avik surprised me by telling that his colleagues have planned a picnic at the locally famous Usri falls, next morning. I was in a gloomy state then, as back in Kolkata, my father was fighting with the impending death in a comatose state which immediately followed when he suffered from a near fatal cerebral stroke. Though he did not reveal the reason behind the sudden plan, but I knew that the picnic was planned to cheer me up.
Next morning, I found myself reluctantly sitting inside a hired autorickshaw. Actually, I did not want to join the picnic party, instead, I wanted to stay back alone, reminiscing the old times when Maa made the rice flour dumplings and coconut stuffed crepes to celebrate Makarsankranti. Nevertheless, I decided otherwise, when all of Avik’s colleagues pleaded and continuously kept requesting until I gave an affirmative nod. The vehicle started off noisily. The chatters of the picnic crowd continued till we reached the location and was overpowered by the rumbles of the nearby cascading streams. We nudged our way through different selfie crazy picnic groups to the source of the sound. The first thing I noticed was a fat brown mass of rock through a veil of brown rippling ribbons of water gushing down below to join the Usri river. Not a very impressive show for a waterfall, I thought, in the true sense of the term. What fascinated me, instead, was the humble beauty of the surroundings. A few boulders stood up, unarranged, from the chest of the muddy river. On looking up, there was a green horizon, soothing the tired eyes.
While the other members of our group, joined the selfie gang too, Avik and I, sat upon a rock and looked on. The fidgety stream was flowing by incessantly. The ripples did not stop even once, they broke, they gathered and flowed. As I concentrated on their movements, it occurred to me that our lives, too, are like the ripples. We break, we gather and move on. Life is all about moving on while the inevitable death would sweep us away, like the river here, sweeping away the ripples with it. My stream of contemplations broke when someone called for lunch. There were soft paranthas, dum aloo, and kadhai paneer. Mahender ji, a caretaker of the guesthouse, which belonged to Avik’s workplace, managed to cook and pack them early in the morning. Though Mahender ji, was not an excellent cook, but I loved the lunch. It seemed to me that I had never tasted such soft paranthas, dum aloo and paneer ever in my life. Maybe I was very hungry, unknowingly, or, maybe, the natural setting influenced to me to find joy in humble things around me.
After having the food, we decided to stroll around the rocky banks of the river. The banks were quite slippery, as water rode over them, at times. I, who boasted of completing a few treks in my life, couldn’t help but to slip too, while I treaded on forward. We took a few more steps ahead and saw small sand dunes, probably formed due to erosional as well as depositional work of Usri. It was fun to step on those dunes, watch them crumble down by bits. For a few moments we became children again. Our shoes went up in our hands, our feet bare. As we walked slowly on the sand, we felt our feet immersing down. And then we looked back to see the footprints we left there. Deep in our minds we knew, however, that they will be washed when there will be a flood next rainy season. The sun dimmed. It was time to go back home. Our autorickshaw driver started the engine. The noise brought us back to the present. Yes, we need to go back to our chores. I returned too, to my grief as well as the daily chores of life. The brief outing taught me a lot without saying anything. I realised that Avik was right when he said that very little can be achieved by brooding about the loss I am undergoing through and I needed to live each moment of my life, as my father had always advised. I couldn’t change the scenario by bringing back my father to his previous self but I gathered more strength to face the present, from this short trip by the river Usri.
About the Author
Parna Das Basu is a blogger by passion and a content writer as well as Subject Matter Expert by profession. Do come by, read and leave your precious comments in these addresses:
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