one hour ..one park ...many stories

While most people find peace in the morning rush—through meditation, yoga, infused drinks, sunrise strolls, —my rhythm flows the other way.

For me, it is the golden twilight hour that brings solace. When birds trill their way home, the crescent moon quietly appears against a crimson sky, and the harsh sunshine softens—I step into my sanctuary. That one hour of my evening walk in the adjacent park is my true ‘me time.’

Thawing out in the park ,the familiar faces, trees, and shrubs greet me like family, though we seldom speak. I notice every detail—the fresh golden blooms of the chandelier-like Amaltas, the shy stunted Champa blooms-new leaves sprouting and the old ones withering , the mulberry tree at the entrance waving its leafy hello, and the two cats that cross the pavement each day with their predictable meows. The environment is so familiar that even blindfolded, I could still feel the warm breeze, hear the rhythm, and sense every presence around me. Not seeing someone for  few days brings an odd unease. There is no forced chemistry amongst all, just a pure raw connection  thrives in that golden hour.

The park, at this hour, is a mosaic of lives and the air thick with gossips and stories. In one corner, a group of elderly women gather—first exchanging animated gossip about disobedient maids and icy daughter-in-laws, talking about their indulgentor the hen pecked sons. Concoting slanderous stories about some society residents . The place is a perfect milieu for giving vent to all frosty feelings ..even the tea being served is either insipid, or short or long on sugar…All kinds of vain and vapid gossips from scrunching faces, crinkling  eyes and flailing hands and the throng enjoy every scrap of the tittle tattle..   Grouchy , gregarious,  middle age, old, weak , sturdy, the benches occupied by a melange  of women..All this snitching 

then mellowing into a soulful devotional bhajans,as if washing away the complaints in divine surrender. 

On the other side, senior men engage in yoga, clap in rhythm while chanting “Ram Ram,” and swap remedies for everything from prostate issues to constipation. Their debates switch from digestive health to  creaking knees to politics—Bjp, congress, Trump and more recently, the Sindoor Operation.   Someone tugging his long hoary beard picks holes at the law and order and the shoddy roads..Some display an air of intellectualism, wealth of knowledge  and few flaunt their recent trip to their childern overseas. The gestures and tones are stoic and reflective in contrast to lively banter on the other side.Their chatter stands in stark contrast to the women’s—reminding me that, truly, men are from Mars.

As I huff and puff through my rounds, teenagers walk ahead, locked in private conversations, carefully distanced to guard their words from eavesdropping. From others scampering around  I hear the cathartic rants of office workers, women fretting over tutors and coaching classes, and their children’s uncertain futures. Few look disgruntled that despite sweating out daily, the extra pounds donot budge, piling on weight , yet the quotidian regime is not given up.

Some stretch in the gym zone, while others simply sit, observing the world or themselves in stillness. This kaleidoscope of movement and emotion—diverse in form yet united in essence—is what makes my evening walk so precious.

And in the corner, the brick  red gazebo hosts its own little celebration—office and store workers from nearby gather to cut cakes, snap pictures, and share laughter. Their joy and excitement are pure gold, a delight worth more than a million bucks to witness.

And then I reflect—despite the difference in age, gender, background, or burden, our desires and concerns mirror one another. There is so much unity amidst diversity, so many shared experiences .. we all have different lives yet similar emotions 

Different paths yet similar pursuits 

Maya Angelou was right:

“We are more alike, my friends, than we are unalike.”