Blue Tiffin- box (the 'her' version)

 I invite my readers to my first guest post at love with me and life, entitled as above or read it here.  The post reads as...

...That was once rushed affair. That had always been one. Just back from her college, she had rummaged through her whole wardrobe for the want of better clothes to be shoved inside her bag. A spring in every step she had; a song in her heart. She had been packing her bags to go home that day. Going home at that time of the year had always been easy. She could easily manage sufficient leaves to afford enough time to rest at home and enjoy homecoming.....

With clothes half folded in her hands, she went inside the kitchen to grab a bite. She opened her fridge and her eyes set on a blue Tiffin box. A deluge of emotions engulfed her and she was swept with memories from two years back, when around this time she had been leaving for her place. Only, she hadn’t been working then. She had been a student. She had been away from her home to pursue what at that time seemed most important to her. And in this most important endeavor of hers, she had struggled to ward off all possible distractions.

Nothing had changed since then. The slight drizzle, a heavy downpour, a soft breeze and a happy heart, all felt the same, even now.

A call from home brought her back to the present. She had been asked to leave early, lest she is hindered by inundated roads and a dead traffic. It had rained cats and dogs that day, stopping only for a while. The voracity of rain had always been overwhelming for her. And to her happiness, the still overcast sky brought with it a promise of more rain. The breeze wafted through the curtains. The mellifluous music blared through the room, stirring up emotions she knew so well ; bringing back memories which have always been priceless.


Memories they were, beautiful and refreshing. Unfading memories. Memories, which mirrored her with herself; which had become an indispensable part of her existence. Memories, in the wake of which, time elapsed only to archive beautiful recollections in the landscape of mind; in the wake of which, the infinite time coyly yielded to the mind; the mind, which had beheld those memories timelessly.
“The tide recedes, yet leaves behind bright seashells son the sand,
The sun goes down, but the gentle warmth still lingers on the land,
The music stops and yet it echoes on in sweet refrains,
For every joy that passes something beautiful remains”
The song and the ambience reminded her of her days as a student living in a clumsy colony with houses colossal and old, yet houses weathered and washed, over the years, by the heavy rain. Lined by contracting lanes and thatched environs was her dwelling. It reminded her of the monsoons when she had stood  perched on the railing of her balcony watching the water drops line  and fall off the edge of the Peeple tree that shrouded her window completely. It reminded her of the water logged lanes below and paper boats that she had made and sailed in her balcony. It took her to the hustle and bustle of students in and around her institute, wading through the waist level waters to attend their classes; to  the temple nearby and the ringing of the bells every evening. It brought her back the days of the gentle breeze, of the cozy nights and the lazy mornings. It made her reminiscent of her hot pursuit; of the newspapers damp with rain water every morning. It reminded her of the hot mug of coffee she had sipped from; of the hot mug of coffee she had shared with him sitting inside that coffee shop. It reminded her  of the monsoons when he had left her to move to a place where he could fulfill his dreams, leaving behind his memories and that blue Tiffin box.


Bikram said…
I better not comment anything on this one ..

Saru Singhal said…
I read it and left my comment there...

Wonderful writing Stuti :)
A grain of sand said…
@Bikram: Why?If I may ask

@Saru: Thanks for reading dear:-)
Bikram said…
me and your guest blogger have a long history :) thats the only reason..

nothing else ..

Bikram said…

RIGHT first of all MY apology , a BIG FAT APOLOGY.. You have written this post .. OH god .. I mistook it completely .. Please pardon me .. Sorry .. I was god knows in what world .. I did not read the end of the story .. Although I read it ..

apologies please Once again ...

The story is beautiful you know , I somehow still live in those days , the good old school days, My schooling was not that great I was a hosteler and bullied a lot , but neverthless it was fun and I would love to go back there again..

Rahul Bhatia said…
Stuti , I had left a comment to appreciate this lovely piece but looks it went to your spam folder:(
Lovely writing!
A grain of sand said…
@Bikram: Somewhere, we all are trapped,somewhat, in our good old school days. These are howeever not a chronicle of school days :-)

@Rahul Sir: I have no idea what is happening to comments here. Guess it is my loss. However, thanks a lot for dropping by and appreciating my work:-)
phatichar said…
Awww..beautiful. It's amazing how two versions of the same thing work so well. :)

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