Going Away

I've left the little home on the hill right where it pauses a bit before hurrying down to meet the road below. I've left the crisp, cold dawn crackling with freshness, like laundry just back from the cleaners. I've left the cup of morning tea tickling my nose with its cinnamony fingers. I've left that busybody of a starling crooning way ahead of dawn: hey, wake up, wake up, you lazy bum, the sun's crossed the hilltop. I've left the little walks on the forever climbing hill road edged with yellow raspberry brambles and frail white roses. I've left the black tufted bulbul dancing in the tall grass, singing perky love songs to his disdainful mate. I've left the red strawberries dotting the road edge, waiting for the bulbuls to find them. I've left the restless swallows swooping and rising and swooping again, searching for God-knows-what treasures in the woodland grass. I've left the sparrows dancing in impatience for their morning birdseed bonanza. I've left the chubby bees somersaulting amidst the baby China roses, their black bodies sprinkled with yellow pollen. I've left the blossoming jacarandas in a profusion of purple and the flowering Grevillias spouting ochre fire. I've left the pigeons on my rafters cooing lullabies to the brand new baby upstairs. I've left Badal, the errand boy whistling cheery, tuneless songs as he runs up and down the hill in his shiny pointed shoes. I've left him waiting for my promised goodies for his 'bachcha', the mountain pup he has just adopted. I've left that large black koel trying in vain to balance itself on a single stalk of grass. I've left Knight, the black dog with the proud eyes to dabble for some more time with his beloved azadi. I've left the brown dog on her perch atop the gate guarding her mountain world. I've left the deep red sunsets splaying across the darkened Western skies at dusk. I've left the town lights twinkling secret Morse code SMSes to the stars all through the silent night. I've left the cool, cream, curtained rooms with their clean smooth floors, restful, tendrils of lavender scented smoke coiling up from the incense sticks, lit at every dusk. I've left the smell of cakes baking, vanilla and nutmeg and cinnamon. I've left the melting snow as it trails down the hill in thin streaks, feeding the mountain stream behind. I've left the great swathes of grey white clouds, gathering in ice cream swirls at the mountain's crown, foretelling a night of storm. I've left the demented winds rushing down the mountain slope, howling at windows and rattling across roofs, bringing relentless rain and hail and snow....I've left the skies recovering from the storm, flashing deep cloudless blue once more. 

I've gone.

But I've left my words with them:

" Stay. Just the way you are. I'll come back to you. One day!"