"भैय्या, आप डोर पकड़ना, जब में पतंग को ढील दूंगी | यह कैप पेहेन लो, और आँखों का ध्यान रखना | चलो छत पर, सब आ गए होंगे", यह कहते हुए उसने मेरा हात पकड़कर चार मंज़िले चढ़वा दिए. फिर छत पर मेरे साथ पतंग उड़ाने की ज़िद्द करने लगी.
It had been merely fourty-eight hours, and yet, seemed like I've been a part of this city for a long while, and have returned after my fourteen years of exile. There were various delicacies on the table, my friend on the sofa, scorching heat outside, and Kasturi. We had reached after a ten-hour bus ride to Ahmadabad, as my friend had stated it would be relaxing. The bus reminds me of the times when necessity would assume the status of luxury and you were courageous enough to romanticize pennies in pocket as a situation of living on the edge. By the time we set foot on Ahmedabad, all that I had in mind was to fill my stomach with all that the city had to offer, and secondly, a well-deserved smoke. But, I under-estimated the city, and sometimes, under-estimation makes you happy.
Have you ever lived the night? Basking in the glowing neon, embracing the noises of wishes and soaking the glitter? Do that, my friend, and you'll acknowledge the emotion of a city as it speaks to you. The night before मकर संक्रांति, three of us (a co-traveler who became a friend), devoured the entire city of Ahmadabad, savoring every lane. By dawn break we had returned to our nest, merely to sleep for a while before the next part of the adventure would begin. Little did I know what was in store. In Ahmadabad, the day starts when you want to, at your own pace, and surely not before your fuselage is filled to the top with breakfast (burp)! That day of मकर संक्रांति would turn out to be extraordinaire- not only because I was to witness the sky full of kites, but more essentially, I was tempted to be held back by Kasturi.
The heat was unforgiving for January, and by the time we had climbed to the terrace, we couldn't dare look up without our shades on. Kite flying, goes beyond kite flying- it is a phenomenon which brings together all the families of the society together, with food, chatter, laughter, the oldies and the grandkids, the romantic teens and the married mid-lives, all on one roof. Your kite, my kite, the kite from the terrace third block away, the kite that always cuts your thread, the kite that fails to take off, doesn't matter.
सबसे ज़रूरी और एहम बात है की तुम्हारी डोर किसके हात में है- रिश्ते भी इस्सी तरह होते है. एक सिरे पर कोई डोर संभालता है और दुसरे छोड़ पर पतंग को ढील देता है. दोनों के बीच में मांजा की धार जो एक दुसरे को जोड़े रखती है.
Kasturi dragged me up the stairs, and demanded that I fly the kite with her. At this point, I should admit that I'm not even a novice at kite flying. But I couldn't let her excitement fade away, and so gave an attempt. And she broke into laughter. Sooner than expected, I had drawn closer to her, and by noon knew about her favorite teacher at school, and the boy she liked. In the meanwhile, kites kept cutting across each other throughout the sky, some high, some low. All the terraces, had a paraphernalia spread out; the entire city was busy flying in the sky, all trying for a space of their own.
As the day drew closer to its end, Kasturi got busy with her friends while me and my friend, prepared to leave. Another ten hour bus ride would take us back to Mumbai where the office desks were patiently waiting our arrival. Our parting was hurried, without any melodrama, just a parting smoke with our co-traveler. On reaching back, it dawned upon that I was carrying a particular scent- that of a small, sweet and subtle relation, formed through some spell which was in the air during that day when thousands of kites were in the air, bridging the earth and the sky, me and Kasturi.
