There could never be a more ideal setting ! Cool -- despite 45 degrees centigrade -- under the tall, over-arching Peepal trees ! Through the cathedral-like arboreal canopy, the hot, mid-noon Sun peeped down in badges and blobs. The calmness of the scene was truly overwhelming. And in that setting -- ideal for one’s own company -- a man tilting well beyond middle-age sat on a bench, reading a book (whose title one could not see from the distance and his fingers, too, covered the letters). He was fully engrossed in reading -- oblivious to the surroundings, unmindful of the passing vehicles in rarified numbers, unbothered about the twitting of an occasional bird. His leg stretched before him, crossed at the ankles.

 

His face wore a faint chuckle -- as if he loved what he read. Next to the man was another book -- rather thick -- and his grey hat and a dark goggle, plus, of course, a flask with a beige cup-cap. A few feet away from him, across the grassed landscaping on the sidewalk, stood his red, rather old cycle leaning against the stone-edge. That was that man’s world for that moment. Obviously, he had left behind every other thing -- the family, the home, his people -- and of course, his worries (if any). At that precise moment, he was his own master, steeped in his own company, aided and abetted by his books, basking in the summer solitude. Of course, books are always a great company. And, that man -- may God bless him -- knew that very well. So, beyond the company of anybody, he chose books, and sneaked out of his home to meditate, to navigate life’s twists and turns, hand-held by the written word, guided by the quiet play of his own emotions as he turned pages. It was, beyond doubt, a mesmeric moment -- for him, and for anybody who might have yearned for such a solitude in thick of a reverberating city.

 

Of course, the Civil Lines has a few such places -- away from the humdrum, away from the clutter and clatter. One such place is the 900-metre road stretch from Ramgiri, Chief Minister’s official residence to Police Gymkhana. It is a perfect avenue -- a road shaded with trees -- with well-kept lawns stretching along the entire distance (punctuated by the entrances to houses and offices on either side). Several statues -- with a sense of humour -- line the road on both sides. And then there are benches that very few people may be using (particularly in summer). There, on one of those benches, that man sat enraptured in reading. Such spectacles are rare. One has often lost oneself in the company of books. Yet, at that summer moment, one felt truly envious -- that life has given someone such an allowance to be able to get out with a couple of books, and get engrossed between their covers, negotiating with life’s vagaries and victories. What a solace! n