Romantic Walks and Conversations

I try and take a walk everyday.

This habit started as a necessity in Delhi, where I used to walk to college everyday. Honestly, it started off as a way to save a little money; with time, it developed into an unskippable habit. That was also partly the reason why I used to be late for everything, for I'd overestimate my walking speed. My friends hated going out with me because I'd make them walk long distances. Often, I'd opt to walk and they would take an e-rick to reach the destination.

My math was simple- anything below 5km is a walkable distance. This habit led to me walking alone a lot of times.

When you walk the same path over and over, at the same time of the day, your body builds up the muscle memory to avoid all sorts of obstacles automatically. For example, I used to bend sidewards while walking past a certain tree which had a branch sticking out sidewards or how I used to skip over an open drain, so on and so forth. Then, walking the same path became like music to me. Just like when I play the sitar, I don't really have to think about which note I am playing and where my hand should go because it is so deeply embedded in my muscle memory; I didn't have to think about where I am stepping and why I am bending sidewards for it was etched in my muscle memory.

Slowly and steadily, in my daily walk through the same street, the buildings, streetlights, trees, and strangers, became storytellers, communicating with me without words in my journey through the cityscape. The beauty of these silent dialogues lay in its universality.

In this rhythmic life, when you keep noticing something over and over, for example, the buildings- they become more than mere structure; they become sentient beings with their own history and personality. I'd sometimes think to myself about how these buildings, although made from the same bricks and cement, look and feel so different from each other. Every building has its own story (pun intended). As I would pass these giants by, they would whisper "Hello! How have you been?" into my eyes in a language only understood by us. There is a comforting familiarity that one cannot just ignore. In front of the buildings, I feel safe, as if the buildings, tall and short, were standing guard for me, protecting me. They stand tall and stoic, offering much needed company, standing witness to the rhythm of my footsteps.

The windows on the buildings, like eyes, are something which fascinate me a lot. They provide a peek into what is going on inside (surprise, surprise). I always thought about how these windows made a building so vulnerable. They allow for the winds from the city, carrying all tales of dust, smoke, and pollen to infiltrate the building. That's a vulnerability that I particularly find endearing, as if the buildings were inviting me to see the delicate interiors within the strong facade put up on the exteriors.

The climbers peeking from over the wall of the buildings offer a homely fragrance. Its very funny how I remember the exact smell of the flowers of every plant that lay on my path. It is as if the plants are calling out to me to show the day-to-day changes.

"Hey, did you notice this new bunch of buds?"

"Oh, how I'm waiting for spring to come back!"

"Take in the scent, it's my last bloom, tomorrow it's going away."

They would tell me which season they liked the best, and which month they hated; they would tell me when the time was up for the old leaves and when the new leaves were due. Each plant, a narrator of the changing season, whisper tales of buds waiting for their turn to bloom, the anticipation of spring, the bittersweet farewell of the last season.

I would very much love to be like these buildings: leaving windows in my soul for people to peep in; letting the fragrance of life permeate through; putting out a branch over the wall sharing the fruits of my experience and flowers of my essence; and lastly having a strong wall to protect myself from anybody with the wrong intentions.

Obviously many people might wonder why I talked to buildings and plants, for it seems a little abnormal to be doing so. But what can I do, for I remember my path with these cues. If the plant were to be cut down, I'd feel incomplete, almost as if something in me went missing. If a building were to be repainted overnight, I'd feel lost, for it would feel as if I was walking down that path for the very first time. It is safe to say that these visuals and fragrances are the bookmarks in the book of my life.

The metro gives you the exact opposite lesson about life. That's for another post to explore.