Chronicles of an improbable journey

Kagaz ki Kashti

4/7 had one really spectacular scene to offer during the monsoons. There is no better way to put it. I love the monsoons of Durgapur; more specifically, I love the monsoons of 4/7. I can cite a gazillion reasons; yet not touch the tip of the proverbial iceberg of every single tingle in the cells of my bones, with every single raindrop that landed on every single leaf of every single of my childhood friends. The amazing versatility of evolution comes full-bloom to blow out our egocentric selves, only if we care to see; in all its glory – in every insect that crawls out of its egg, in every frog that croaks from a tiny puddle, in every soaked crow….
Well, poetry apart, 4/7 was at the base of a slope that started at the top of the street; that meant that the street in front of us, frequently turned into a stream – gaily rippling down to the drain at the end of the street. The following incident has been repeated innumerable times. Let’s suffice by saying that this was a time when I had learnt how to fold a piece of paper into a boat – a Kagaz ki Kashti. My brother was little. Let us imagine for a second that it is about 430 in the afternoon; and both of us have had a wonderful time monkeying around while our Mom had her siesta. Let us imagine, that when the heavens broke with a drizzle turning fast into a steady patter of a million little feet, the stream in front of our house swelled. All streams flow to the river; so let us for a moment close our eyes imagine this little stream, meandering through unknown lands till it met with Damodar. For a second; just for a second, let us think of two kids, with a Kagaz ki Kashti peering through the tall windows watching the drenched Guava tree, waiting for a break. Then the two kids, decide the wait has been long enough; and they run through the rain holding on to the boat. And so they float the boat onto the stream and watch it sailing down proudly. Jhumpu, in all his wisdom concluded that that boat was going all the way to the ocean.

Last year, I tried to teach my six-year old, Roop, how to make a paper boat. He isn’t an expert, so I made one for him. There is a nice bike trail that goes from our home, through an open space, that has a small canal running by its side, called the farmer’s highline canal. Often, Roop and I take our bikes and ride the trail, by the water, particularly during spring and summer. I took the paper-boat with me; father and son set out on a mission now to sail the boat in the canal.

It was late spring, and snow had started to melt with alarming levels in water, and frequent flood warnings at various places in Colorado, that are closer to the mountain. Our little canal, that remained dry (maybe with a a coat of hardened ice or snow, all of a sudden bursts into life, with a good volume of water making its way through. The trees with their leafless branches of winter have performed their yearly miracle – they have all woken up and have started filling up their canopy with fresh greenery. The bugs are out and so are prairie-dogs. We stop the bikes to get closer to flowing water. And Roop watches over my shoulder closely monitoring if I made any mistake in sailing the precious boat. It hit the water and off it went sailing merrily with the current. Roop stared and followed it for a while. Then, garnering his full six years of accumulated wisdom, declared that the boat was going all the way to the ocean.
He got me stunned for a few moments; as I stood, the image of a wet afternoon, 13000 miles away with two kids and a boat more than twenty years ago slowly enveloped the Rocky Mountains.