My elf carefully stepped into a clear puddle of water…heel to toe slowly immersed…she walked towards the car door leaving shiny shoe prints on the sidewalk. As i attempted to pull her in, she suprisingly resisted. Her answer to my complete look of astonishment, “my footprints wont leave me maa…….”
And so do mine, oh so reluctant to leave the lovely sleepy town of dahanu.
Hosted by a family so dear to my heart, they created a web oh so silken and sweet, that my feet are ensnared in it for life.
Footprints left in that beautiful house. Of high lumpy beds yet not quite reaching high ceilings. Of long stone hallways on which our little ones drew dreams with chalk. Of lazy swings which creaked with the weight of our drowsy selves. Of secretive attics and stained glass windows highlighting sun soaked hair in hues of reds, golds and greens. Of winds whistling through shutters and unfamiliar noises in the still night. Of elbows on little balconies staring at cobbled streets lined with houses out of a fairy tale.
Footprints left on the sunset washed orange beach, cool sand sifting through toes, a balm for sore soles. Hopscotch, catch a crook creating a canvas of impressions…elven light, heavy trods, running feet balls and falling heels. Sea waves leaving wistful foams on arms and legs smudged by soapy bubbles cheerily blown by puckered lips.
Footprints reluctant to leave the kitchen floor awash with orgasmic fragrances of hot piping panki between crackling dry leaves, freshly plucked vegetables in jeera fry and tongue tingling peculiar neera. Shoe prints in that gorgeous little cafe enticing with its inviting music, warm scrumptious goodies of hot baked bread and quaint corners filled with colourful books and lil blackboard with chalks emitting delightful cherubic cries.
Footprints left amidst leaves strewn rudimetary pathways in farmlands rich with chickoo laden fragrances, sudden sights of golden sun streaming though shaded lustrous greens and finger licking sumptuous yet simple fare. Footprints following treacherous paths trodden more frequently by animals than humans.
There are certain destinations, where we leave bits of ourselves, our soul behind. Places which we identify with, of which our myriad dreams are made of. And those true bits beckon us with little whisperings and tuggings at our heart and memories. This wonderful little picturesque town of dahanu feeds my imagination albeit at a lethargic pace. And time and again have i retraced my bare footprints to marinate in its soporific air as it houses that bit which mirrors my very self.
Oh not too long, not too long
Walk back i shall
To where my self belongs…❤