Cloudy Affair

He was quiet and lil anxious that day.
All his life, the only comfort & affection he had ,was for the clouds. I would see him gazing at them. All  dawns,mornings,noons,evenings and even at the nights. To him ...the white furry creatures meant the world...

Now,after having grown to the 88th year of his life... he prefers sitting back in his crackling chair...gazing at his most beloved (& only) belongings....CLOUDS
Clouds remind him of his mother.Their white fur is as soft as her touch.Their color resembles her moods.
Dark grey- when she used to be angry, blue-when she lovingly planted a kiss on his cheek n fed him milk and rice, clear white skies brought back the fragrance of the beautiful mogra flowers she wore in her hair, pink was always for the candy floss she bought for him  and bright yellows were as special as her favorite yellow cotton saree.
As a young kid he would talk to the skies.He would talk to them as he would with any other relative or friend around , or for that matter would be even more vocal about his feelings...for he knew,they belonged to his mom and that they would never hurt him,no matter what happened...He had mentioned everything to them.Right from his first crush in school,bad exams,ragging by seniors,the new hot English teacher in the high school and the way she said "quiet" with a little wink.He had narrated all the confusion he had had over choosing a course for the college, the chase for the perfect job, his girlfriends (out of which one turned into his wife),his kids,their kids..everything ,EXCEPT that thing..that one secret he swore not to share even with his shadow.
 That one thing which could grab away his ONLY belongings.That thing which he learned the night his mom breathed her last.That thing which was said by his father to him,before he left him at the gates of the boarding school.And it wasn't that easy for him to know that he was never a SON to his mother.That he was picked as was found unclaimed in the hospital where his mom nursed. He didn't want to believe this secret. And so he decided not to share it with his skies.

BUT that night he was  my grandpaa and also my best friend,with whom i shared every secret of mine & he did the same.He had to share it with me.The skies by then had began pouring like never before.It seemed like all his conversations with the clouds deciphered in the form of droplets and let his feelings go. They spoke what his eyes couldn't in all those years......For once he chose a new mate for his keepsakes......

Future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of there dreams....

We had a very unstable life, shifting from one town to the other as my mother as well as father were government service professional. At an early age of twelve, I left our beloved native Dombivali (a suburban area in Mumbai) and shifted to Nasik. Nasik was then surrounded by the most amazing and beautiful natural spaces. It meant a life away from the day-to-day slipping away fast life of Mumbai.No crowded places,no dirty local trains..just loads and loads of trees.
The place, the culture, the atmosphere-everything was new to me. But it didn’t take me more than a month to adjust myself to the locality in which we successfully secured a well-maintained resale flat along with a posh neighborhood. The block right next to ours’ was occupied by an ever-friendly family of four, the Kulkarnis. Mr. and Mrs. Kulkarni stayed there along with their elder son Ninad and the younger kid Ragini. Ninad dada was eight to nine years elder to me and Ragini was my classmate.
Ninad dada was left visually impaired in his early childhood due to an unusual cataract growth, followed by an unsuccessful surgery. As I started getting acquainted with them, I started sensing Ninad dada’s deep love for music. He was one of those children possessing  inborn talent, which came to him as God’s blessing.
He could readily play different TV commercial title tacks or movie songs on his little synthesizer without any hesitation of his visual incapability. I was always left astonished by the way he could relate the notes distinctly just by his powerful listening comprehension. Later an old lady in the neighborhood advised uncle and aunty to encourage his talent and train him technically. Accordingly, he started his musical journey under the guidance of a local music teacher.
Very soon, in a two years’ span, we returned back to Dombivali as my mother’s zonal transfer term had been completed. My memories of this family diluted as time proceeded and I lost the collection of moments which registered the time I spent with them.
Then, a few years later, all these memories unfolded from my treasured chest of events, as I saw Ninad dada being interviewed for a television talk show. I wondered how beautifully his talent had conquered his obstacles! He had faounded an institute called ‘KALA SANCHIT’ to train and groom physically handicapped aspiring artists.
Recently, I had a golden chance to visit my cousin in Nasik and I felt not to miss this opportunity to visit ‘KALA SANCHIT’. Numerous questions sprung up in my mind as I impatiently travelled towards my destination.
I received a warm welcome at ‘KALA SANCHIT’. The whole scenario of the premises reflected friendliness. The atmosphere silently spoke how dissolved these artists were in music. Students from all over the world had made their way to the workshops available here. Kids as young as five year olds were left open to explore the different facets of life and try to locate them in their music.
I had most inspiring experience here. I learned how one’s passion can lead him to his most fantasized destiny. I feel that the pain of dada’s difficult times transformed into a positive spirit which routed him to this socially offbeat, yet publicly transitioned and acknowledged path. He believed in the beauty of his music. He was convinced by the fact that his lack of vision was just a mere stone in the whole revolutionary process. Music isn’t just an art or a medium of entertainment for these students. It means life to them, a way in which they try to express themselves. At the end of the day, nothing really matters but everything deeply matters. The real zest in life is understood by respecting this mystery, which is beyond the horizons of cultural norms, needless of physical strength yet portraying the might of dreams and belief.....