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Friday, January 16, 2026

The Light That Told Us the Time

There was a time when work faded with the daylight. Life bloomed like jasmine; it didn’t need a watch. The street-end sodium vapour lamp told the time. People slowly came out. Those days had no agenda.

I used to be surrounded by 10 odd people almost always. Some were sitting on the thinnai. Some leaned against compound walls. The old men had taken the vaaravathi without thinking about it. Nothing had been planned. People were just there, talking about whatever interested them that day.

The boys on the compound wall spoke about cricket, full of movement and noise. Some swung air-bats and some caught imaginary balls. There was a harmless serial liar too. But it all added flavour, like a mole on a fair lady’s cheek.

The women on the thinnai compared the colour of marudhani on their hands, holding their palms up, looking closely. The first time in the day they thought about themselves.

The old men spoke about astrology, correcting each other. I overheard that visiting Tiruchandur temple will make one’s boss kinder.

Another group nearby discussed cinema. Yes, Rajinikanth would have been more successful had he been fair like Kamal.

We children stayed in between all this.

We ran around the yard, stopped suddenly, and ran again. We played our own games. We were superheroes in our own right. One boy proudly showed a half-somersault, landed badly, and still stood up like he had done something great. Another walked around with a toy pistol tucked into his shorts and believed that was enough to make him a hero. The rest of us watched, laughed, copied, and moved on. Elder sisters controlled them.

That was enough for us.

Fireflies began to appear near the bushes. One light, then another. We noticed them immediately. We ran after them, hands open, trying to catch the light. We stopped suddenly and opened our palms. Nothing was there. We laughed and ran again. Sometimes we stood still and watched them float.

From somewhere, a voice would come. Not always the same voice.

“Do not go near that plant now. There will be snakes.”

We paused, looked at the plant, and ran in another direction, laughing at who got scared more.

Someone lowered a vessel into the well. We waited for the sound. When the metal hit the water, we felt satisfied. A while after, the thud of that vessel hitting the ground gave a sense of safety. We did not know why.

Around us, the adults kept talking. We were not listening carefully, but we heard everything. The pieces of information stayed with us without effort. Just enough to show off among our classmates that we know what’s happening.

Later, someone called us in. We went inside. The day ended.

Tomorrow was always different. We did not carry anything from the day before. One thing I miss now.  We went to rest not realizing it would all be memories one day.