Sleeping with the Stars

If I have to tell my children the tales of my childhood, I would start with the tales of the stars.

We may boast ourselves of the ever continuous, non-interrupted power supply to our homes, but the power blackouts gave my generation and the generations before the chance to decode the beauty of the heavens above us. It may be improbable now-a-days to stay indoors or outdoors in the dark, at least in the towns. We have more powerful inverters and generators to care of us. But, there used to be days where the power blackouts provided some of the best memories one can ever imagine.

I always blamed the power cuts when I was a kid. I cursed them for not letting me stay indoors, have fun watching TV (courtesy—no mobiles then). When candle lights occupied the window platforms and tables, mosquitoes buzzed in my ears and the ever-rotating ceiling fan refused to perform its only duty, I was forced us to move outdoors, with the family. We used to take the charpoy (traditional Indian cot) or mat outdoors and the whole family occupied it in different positions. And then the so called magical nights took their shape, unknowingly. Generations before the Z-generation may get nostalgic, of those nights under the stars.

Gone are those days 

   
where we counted the stars—just with our eyes and hands, 

where we searched for the brightest star—among the countless twinkles that grabbed our attention, 

where the clouds waved at us—going somewhere, in mysterious forms, 

where the Moon played hide and seek—making a mockery of us, 

where the aeroplanes (or rockets?) traversed the sky—leaving behind their trail, 

where we were told countless myths and legends (by whom?)—stories revolving around good and bad, righteousness and evil, right and wrong,

where our ancestors, the unsung heroes, were introduced to us with their legendary tales—letting us explore and expand the family tree, 

where the trees talked with us—even while sleeping,

where we enjoyed singing songs—not just listening them, 

where candle light dinners happened at free of cost—involving round table conferences,

where we slept on one another’s lap—kicked the rest,

where every summer night is a camp night—we slept with the stars under the sky and woke up with the Sun, 

where we made the sky a canvas and painted our imagination by joining the stars—failing to realize that sky itself is a sketch, a representation of heavens above us, 

where we simply gazed at the sky and got engrossed in the wonders the Universe holds—paying no heed to the daily hassles that haunt us,

where we thought that we were the kings of the world—didn’t realize how tiny we were then,

and Uncle Moon playfully watched all those acts, laughing at us, and tried to hide behind the clouds, as if he didn’t witness anything. 

Power blackouts showed us how beautiful the nights can be, without the glitter of artificial illumination. I shouldn’t say that I wish to get those power cuts back, when I got the chance to do so. With abundance of inverters and mobiles with monster batteries, they lost their significance which they enjoyed a while ago. With ever increasing means to spend the leisure independently, it’s getting tough out there to spend collective and productive time outdoors in the night. 

So, even though there is ceaseless power supply, it’s kind of nice to spend some time under the stars once in a while. What’s the catch? We may find answers to the questions we don’t even know, with numerous memories to carry for the years to come. We may not find what we are looking for, but we’ll find something for sure. Stars never disappoint. 

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Still, the stars are looking out, waiting for us to come out from the digital chaos and enter the celestial realm, once in a while.

Image Source: pexels.com