All drained, somehow dragging each of the footsteps, reached the place where I find light when all grows dark. It smells of my Granny’s cooked meals, the dusty old books, and the fragrance of the rose from my lover. Perhaps Home is not a place but simply an irrevocable condition. Home is where I have a wagging tail waiting forever. But the charm of the ancient houses is an entire new chapter on its own. Those have seen generations ageing like fine wine.
I’m an artist by passion, so I would overwhelm myself with painting a scene to you all. And here I give the first stroke on your mind canvases. Imagine, an abandoned vintage building, with a name engraved on the entrance, standing tall since the Renaissance. The building retained its glory, sheltering a group of speech impaired individuals, no matter from where they belonged, what were their age, race, gender, they were assured shelter. A handful of benevolent people shouldered the responsibilities of the former. The building in itself felt worthy of its existence. The individuals, in spite of their varied cultures and rituals grew together as a family, turning the building into their dream abode.
The long stretch of balcony where the mosaic floor added the charm, had witnessed the tale of love between the juveniles, the gallery had beheld the sacred knot of the lovers, the rooms smothered the numerous passionate intimacy, heard the first cries of the new borns, the toddlers taking their first steps holding onto the elaborate wood carved railings. The staircase had on days brought news that made them dance and glee, whereas on gloomy unfortunate days snatched their beloved once to unknown dimensions. But the home remained their solace.
Until the day, one among the bunchful, sold the benevolence and decided to take down the building to fulfill his materialistic desires. The voiceless crowd kept weeping but those tears brought no alterations. Suddenly, the thought of being homeless engulfed them. They rebelled and denied to leave. Within a few days, huge machines were brought to knock the cemented structure down. And the first machinery blow hit the entrance wall; it shattered into chunks of cement and bricks, so does the name “DEHING PATKAI.”
What? Did I not mention it earlier that I am an artist? Just empowered my creative liberty to draw a picture of what the Forest meant to those tongue-tied animals residing there. With the clearance from the Minister of Environment, Forest and Climate Change for a coal mining project in the Saleki Proposed Reserve Forest, a part of the Dehing Patkai Elephant Reserve, we may lose the only Amazon of the East. This rain forest being the abode to around 293 bird species, 47 species of mammals, 47 species of reptiles and about 101 species of orchids, is undoubtedly one of the crucial ecological habitat.
When we can vocalize our thoughts for our own benefits, then why not come forward for once, keeping aside our ‘Someone will take care of it’ attitude and be the voice of those helpless souls residing in there? Why not do our bit to make our lives a more worthy one?
Afterall, Nature is not a place to visit. It is a home to all.
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