Marching times

Historically, March has been the month of obsession all my life. Through school, college and now in its final circle in my student life, exams have been thrashing the daylights out of me. Now the March when all I wanted to do is to complete- my-darned- dissertation. Mercifully, this one is being intermediated by a jolly March spent obsessing over too much wine, cheese and good things.

This time is no less eventful. I am alternating between ecstasy and sorrow with tiring frequency. I have never explained myself as much as I am doing now. I almost gave in to the tyranny of tradition yet again. I am close to leaving the city where I grew up. I've declined job offers after pursuing them to the end. I have cried in the department washroom. I have walked on the wrong side of protocol. I have counted my money two thousand times. No cell phone this month as well. Almost ended. Almost started again.

All nags, by way of time, reach their fitting conclusion. Or fade. I held my camera this afternoon, and saw it to its end. I go to a park every morning. I’ve been wanting to write about it for sometime, but that should be another post. As one enters from the gate that I take, theres a semi-largish tree which burst into soft pink blossoms a month back. It is an ice-pack for burning eyes. It has a smaller cousin on another street in the neighbourhood and one near my department.

Basically, I have been wanting to know what its called. So spent an hour this afternoon at the Oxford bookstore, reading Pradip Krishen’s immense labour of love - Trees. What a treat!

Anyhow, my tree goes by the name ‘Sandan’. Botanically and rather sensously, ‘Desmodium Oojeinense’. Other local names are ‘Asainda’, ‘Tinsa’ and ‘Tiwas’. It comes from the lower Himalayan ranges. And is undeservedly rare in Chandigarh.

As are the boys with silly walks. Oh dear!