Mini forest, mega memories

I resumed my morning walks after a brief hiatus, eager to get back to my routine. My destination was a 'mini forest' in J P Nagar, Bengaluru, a tranquil oasis amidst the concrete jungle. Compared to other parts, the stretch of the park I prefer seems bigger and denser with more trees and plants. The park's lush canopy and vibrant foliage provided a serene ambiance, accompanied by the sweet fragrance of eucalyptus trees and the chirping of birds.

As I entered the park, I felt a sense of familiarity, as if reconnecting with old friends. A gentleman in his mid-seventies, dressed in a half pant and T-shirt, greeted me with a warm "Hey" and a wave of his hand. As I drew nearer, he shook hands and enquired after my health, saying, "You were not to be seen for quite some time." Our brief conversation left a pleasant impact, making me feel noticed and valued.

As I picked up my pace, I didn't feel exhausted; instead I felt invigorated, wondering if it was the gentleman's greeting or my own enthusiasm that boosted my energy. I anticipated similar interactions with others, but it was not to be.

As I completed my first round, I saw a Muslim lady entering. I recognised her as my wife’s friend, a widow who had relocated to Bengaluru from Lucknow along with her younger son, who is placed in a multinational company. Though I knew her well, we had no occasion to talk to each other. My wife and she were good friends and would often seriously discuss customs around food, cuisines, and Lucknow's delicacies as if they were planning to start a restaurant. Several times, I have had to wait several minutes for them to end their culinary conversation.

I was walking clockwise, and the lady went counterclockwise. When we were face to face, she greeted me with a Salam Alaikum, seeming pleased and surprised to see me. I responded with a Waalaikum Salam. She enquired about my well-being, and after a meandering formal talk, our conversation turned emotional when she expressed her longing for my late wife, her eyes welling up with tears, “I miss Naiyara.” She tried to avoid eye contact. I tactfully extricated myself from the conversation to avoid further embarrassment for her and walked out of the park. I took the road around the park and continued my morning walk.

Despite the mix of pleasant and poignant encounters, I considered it a remarkable start to my resumed morning walks.