Something about trees

Disfigured embodiments cascading through life hiding to be normal, all made with different strokes, all vulnerable, all beautiful. 

In Seattle, Mohan used to see a tree everyday on his walk to his university. Peaceful, consistent strides with a whisper of singing as he used to plug in his walkman listening to music of back home. The tree was something holding his life together. He just liked looking at it, as seasons changed it used to shed leaves grow new ones but always stand as it did. Mohan had been seeing it everyday since the first time he came to Seattle as a collage student, young and energetic. During his early days in Seattle he had a girlfriend, a German woman he had met during the course. They used to sit under that tree and talk for hours just about random things. The girl ofcourse left after her course got over and the dreams and promises all became graffitis on the wall above which a layer of algae and plants had found a home, due to abandonment. But he still liked the tree, and he continued to make walking that path a point for his day. Now after years he was a professor. He still missed his home and his village. Some days he'd think of those days. Somehow the tree reminded him of the days of his childhood. 

The day was a gloomy one. But everything looked greener because of the heavy rain and thunderstorm of the previous night. During this time of the year, rains were pretty common. Mohan carried his favourite blue umbrella and grabbed a coffee as he walked towards his first lecture of the day. He was expecting to see the same tree he always did. He used to touch the tress's trunk as he continued his walk. But today as he walked towards the same place, there was no tree. A lightning had struck the tree and it had fallen down. The fire department had take the remander of it down and all that was there now was few ashes. The comfort and the flow of life mohan had seemed to be disrupted. The tree wasn't something important in him life, but just like the painting of Jacques-Louis David or any poetry, every stroke and every little punctuation all seemed to serve to the beauty of the work. And for mohan maybe that tree had become that. 

Mohan stood frozen, staring at the empty patch of earth where the tree once stood. His fingers twitched, as if still expecting the rough bark beneath them, but now all that remained was a void. A part of his routine, his comfort, was gone, just like that. He took a slow breath, his mind resisting the reality in front of him. The tree had always been there, steadfast through rain and sun, just like...
Mohan’s thoughts drifted, unbidden, to his village. To a time when another part of his life had been taken away. Mohan's mind travelled to the time of his childhood, to his home and to his friend of the village. Mohan was from a well stable family. His family was one of the richest in the villages with his father being one of the few educated people. Mohan being the only son was loved and adored by his family. 
He had a friend, Laal. As a kid he enjoyed spending time with Laal but his family always stopped him from playing with Laal. They said Laal was dirty, and he shouldn't be around such children. Mohan was innocent. He didn't understand what it meant. He still tried sneaking out of home and playing the games the village kids used to play. 
On one such say, his father found out. His father in anger had come to the place Mohan was playing and had slapped him taking him home and after that day had never let him meet Mohan again.  

Mohan stood still for a moment, gazing at the patch of earth where the tree once was. His coffee had long since grown cold, and the rain clouds above threatened another downpour.
He wondered if he had ever truly let go of his village, his old friend, and all the things he had been told to forget or distance himself from. The tree, the village, Laal—all these had shaped him in ways he had never consciously acknowledged. Now, as a professor, as a man who had crossed continents and created a life of his own, he still felt tied to that past, even if he couldn’t explain why.

- neil 
After a while. Forgive me for not writing. Here is a short one from my side. 

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