It’s April again!
And if that doesn’t extract a sigh out of you, you probably come in the lucky few to escape the lash of this cruel month’s whip. Most of us don’t. I find myself unwillingly looking back at last April when the world turned on its head, a time that still haunts me, and I’m sure you as well. It seems not long ago, certainly now enough to forget the atrocity of this month when everything suddenly shut down, and we found ourselves locked inside. Chaos ensued!
I had hoped a year on and with a better understanding of this dreadful virus, we would have learnt our lesson, and be equipped far more than we appear to be at present. In fact, a couple of months back the world was healing. We found ourselves limping back to normalcy. Activity returned to the sky, voices of happy children playing outside resonated in neighbourhoods, sport was back in stadiums and the ecstatic cheers of spectators gave us the impression we’d got our lives back. Certainly a part of it!
But sadly this April looks like a rerun of the last one. Just as cruel, if not more. And this time around it will take more than learning to cook, knit and a new language to tide us over these ominous days. As for me, I’m grateful for a private green space that my apartment window overlooks. A swath of green, comprising shrubs, grass and wild flowers which I turn to whenever I’m in distress whether it’s to soothe my eyes when I need some respite from the harsh screen I spend hours staring into when I’m working, or calm my frayed nerves when faced with more questions than I have answers to.
All through last year I depended upon this space for my daily dose of positivity. And nature never fails anyone. On some days I’d look out and find a bright bud awaiting the sun’s awakening kiss. On other, tender new leaves filled my heart with hope. Birds that had arrived from across the world to winter with us, flew back. It was a constant reminder that time never stays the same. Even this would pass. A promise that was especially significant during the horrendous times we were going though during lockdown.
If you understand the rhythm of nature, you will know it’s perfect even if it isn’t what we humans perceive as ideal to our liking. I’ve come to read it, and find a promise of comfort even in the most distressing situations. For instance, the dreariness that comes with the season of fall, when nature slows down, brings with it a promise that once rejuvenated, it will be back on track. Winter has its own whims, but no matter how cold and gloomy the days appear to be, it always culminates in a festival of colours. My favourite season, spring.
But April is an aberration. It holds no comfort, nor promise!
The caressing and whispering spring breeze has long become a memory, replaced by a merciless hurried, hot wind. The ferocity with which it tears at the few reminiscence of spring, some blooms here and there attached precariously to stems and boughs, begging, pleading not to be cast down and away; makes me shudder at what the future holds. Even my steadfast belief has begun to waver. When I look outside, down at the once lively green space, I notice streaks of brown. I tell myself, this is the cycle of life. Of birth, youth and death. I try to ignore them, as I go about my work, but the more I do, the more potent they become. So much so that whenever I looked outside, instead of seeing the green leaves and luxuriant grass that never failed to inject positivity into my veins, my eyes pick out those figments of death and decay.
A change of perspective won’t work. These are clearly signs of our current times. Our test. Maybe that’s what April is meant to be. A cruel reckoner. A month when the shadows grow longer and darker, like a shroud threatening to plunge our lives into a darkness that will last forever. At the same time challenging us to stay afloat, to keep our eyes open, and focus on our goals. Daring us to survive despite all the odds stacked against us. Daring us to dream when the future is only a blur!
And while I’m still trying to figure out an answer to April’s riddles, I notice a scaly breasted munia flitting about the shrubs and grasses. The sight of a lifer and novelty of the activity excites me instantly. I watch this tiny bird no larger than a sparrow, except more vibrant with dark scaly markings on the underparts, and a rust-brown head. It pecks off one of the dry,
lifeless strands of grass, and flies away, carrying its nesting material in its stubby beak. The dead grass that a few moments ago represented the end of life, the bird was using to start a new life. It was building a shelter for itself and its family, to protect them from the elements. That’s the purpose of this wretched month, I tell myself, and smile despite all that is happening around me in the past few days. April is the month that reinstates faith in ourselves!
And with that realization, the words of Rabindranath Tagore, floated back to me. ‘Faith is the bird who feels the light and sings while the dawn is still dark.’
Image courtesy: Wikimedia Commons
