White diamonds on blue velvet
There, do you see that? The one that resembles a quadrilateral with a belt of three bright stars inside it. That's Orion. Can you see it? He points it out to me.
I crane my neck in the direction that he's pointing, and sure enough, even my owlishly weak eyes can spot this particular bunch of stars.Yes,I see it.
It's named after the famous hunter from Greek mythology.
Yes, you've told me before. I remember.
My constellation according to Indian astrology.
Hey, I always thought you were the hunter's dog. Sirius, isn't it? I'm sure you're the dog and not the hunter. :D
I also know that that he's Orion and not Sirius, but this is a familiar set of lines for us. I say it more out of habit than anything else. The leg-pulling was one of the most favorite parts of my childhood.
No, I'm not. I'm Orion. Sirius is the dog. It follows the hunter around. Look, there it is.
He faithfully sticks to his lines. Even his voice carries the same outrage at being called the dog instead of the hunter.
Sirius twinkles. The sky looks like a magnificent celestial carpet. I'm hit by a sudden wave of sadness that I don't even look up at the sky anymore. Nature has become wallpaper now. How did I become immune to such beauty?
Yeah, I see it. But you're a Gemini by English astrology. So where's that one?
He takes a few moments to search.
There. Castor and Pollux. The twins. Do you see?
This time I don't, because there are so many of them and I can't figure out which ones are which.
Nevertheless, I nod.
Where's mine? The archer?
I think it isn't visible right now. But let's try and look for others.
My phone rings and the spell is broken. I reluctantly head inside to a colorless world.
Much later, I contemplate these wonderful moments which are reminiscent of my earlier years. He more than made up for the lack of a sibling. Lack of friends too, at some point. He was my elder brother, friend and father all rolled into one. He was the source of my happiness and frustration in equal parts. My day would begin and end with him.
He would incessantly pull my leg all day everyday. Drag me into a million games I was least interested in. Fight with me over the remote even when he didn't want to watch anything. Come up with a million annoying nicknames for me and persist in calling me by those and those alone. Infuriate me to the point where I would actually resort to physical violence.
He would also be the first one to be there with a lump of jaggery when I scraped my knee. He became a member of not one, not two, but three libraries so that I could read as much as I loved. He would bring home tiny gifts on random days--they'd be anything right from trinkets to books to food. Somehow, he made all of it seem magical. Even boring things like the dreaded load shedding during summer would turn into something enjoyable like stargazing.
I shall always look at the brightly twinkling Orion with a rather fond gaze. For it reminds me of the man I call my father.
P.S: It's all different now. A million reasons that don't make sense. Or maybe growing up is like that. You start seeing clearly. Sometimes more than you want to. Maybe the unassuming, blurry, unconditionally loving gaze of children is much better than our own skeptical disillusioned excuse of a perspective.
But growing up also means accepting that life is neither utopian nor dystopian. It's bits and pieces of both. And so are people. The sooner you accept both extremes and make your peace with them, the more the jigsaw falls into place. :)
I crane my neck in the direction that he's pointing, and sure enough, even my owlishly weak eyes can spot this particular bunch of stars.Yes,I see it.
It's named after the famous hunter from Greek mythology.
Yes, you've told me before. I remember.
My constellation according to Indian astrology.
Hey, I always thought you were the hunter's dog. Sirius, isn't it? I'm sure you're the dog and not the hunter. :D
I also know that that he's Orion and not Sirius, but this is a familiar set of lines for us. I say it more out of habit than anything else. The leg-pulling was one of the most favorite parts of my childhood.
No, I'm not. I'm Orion. Sirius is the dog. It follows the hunter around. Look, there it is.
He faithfully sticks to his lines. Even his voice carries the same outrage at being called the dog instead of the hunter.
Sirius twinkles. The sky looks like a magnificent celestial carpet. I'm hit by a sudden wave of sadness that I don't even look up at the sky anymore. Nature has become wallpaper now. How did I become immune to such beauty?
Yeah, I see it. But you're a Gemini by English astrology. So where's that one?
He takes a few moments to search.
There. Castor and Pollux. The twins. Do you see?
This time I don't, because there are so many of them and I can't figure out which ones are which.
Nevertheless, I nod.
Where's mine? The archer?
I think it isn't visible right now. But let's try and look for others.
My phone rings and the spell is broken. I reluctantly head inside to a colorless world.
Much later, I contemplate these wonderful moments which are reminiscent of my earlier years. He more than made up for the lack of a sibling. Lack of friends too, at some point. He was my elder brother, friend and father all rolled into one. He was the source of my happiness and frustration in equal parts. My day would begin and end with him.
He would incessantly pull my leg all day everyday. Drag me into a million games I was least interested in. Fight with me over the remote even when he didn't want to watch anything. Come up with a million annoying nicknames for me and persist in calling me by those and those alone. Infuriate me to the point where I would actually resort to physical violence.
He would also be the first one to be there with a lump of jaggery when I scraped my knee. He became a member of not one, not two, but three libraries so that I could read as much as I loved. He would bring home tiny gifts on random days--they'd be anything right from trinkets to books to food. Somehow, he made all of it seem magical. Even boring things like the dreaded load shedding during summer would turn into something enjoyable like stargazing.
I shall always look at the brightly twinkling Orion with a rather fond gaze. For it reminds me of the man I call my father.
P.S: It's all different now. A million reasons that don't make sense. Or maybe growing up is like that. You start seeing clearly. Sometimes more than you want to. Maybe the unassuming, blurry, unconditionally loving gaze of children is much better than our own skeptical disillusioned excuse of a perspective.
But growing up also means accepting that life is neither utopian nor dystopian. It's bits and pieces of both. And so are people. The sooner you accept both extremes and make your peace with them, the more the jigsaw falls into place. :)
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