There exists a space between Seventy and Seventy-five. So vast.as vast as our memories! Unfathomable as death itself. For him, who gets entrapped in this space, there is NO return! They wander in the labyrinth of the insurmountable corridors of their childhood, reaching nowhere!
Or dive helplessly into the freezing depths of old-age.
Those between Seventy and Seventy-five, if behave like youth, be cautious! For they are youth themselves.
Like youth, they can indulge in true Love; can dance in step with music; need be, they can lead a War or a Revolution or a Rebellion… the TRUTH is, they are not Dead; still live, kicking and high in spirits!
Those between Seventy and Seventy-five, will certainly have some eccentricities and hallucinations! Sometimes they want to jump on the saddle of a horse and go for a long long ride; sometimes it may be that they want to cross oceans and fly over Mountains on Garuda! Those between Seventy and Seventy-five, may long to wander through deep deserts in search of imaginary water pools! May long to stand under pouring rain with no clothes on! Would long to read poems yet to be composed by someone!
May imagine that history is running backwards! May long to cry out loud.. louder for no reason at all.
Those between Seventy and Seventy-five, their loneliness got brown colour, like the faded photos in their old, perhaps crumbling albums. Whenever they open their mouths and laugh out, the Sun retreats into the lonely village lanes. Their sweat smells of mustard flowers in Abohar. Their walk reminds of old Tower of Pisa in motion and their talk is full of brags.
Oh, Yeah. It is only for males; for women, they never pass through seventy to seventy-five at all. Unknown to all, they float from fifties to eighties; serenely, quietly and un-boisterously as a rainbow of pure love. With quiet footsteps of angels- emitting heavenly fragrance of rose petals and perfumes of salvation!
Based on the poem by Sachidhanandan.
[കടപ്പാട്]
GC Moolepat 
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