The Moonlit Terrace

Grey tiles that heat up in the 120o F summer turn into burning coals under your bare feet. You can see the Sun peeping from behind those tall buildings in the horizon and the evening haze settles while the sky turns into a canvas of hues of orange and purple. Hundreds of birds coo their goodnights’ as they fly off towards their homes. And slowly, the thousands of stars start to wink at you as the Sun nods off to sleep and the sky turns a strong shade of dark blue-black. The crickets chirrup in the background as you spread the mattresses on those by-now-cool grey tiles and throw on fresh white sheets. I loved those summer nights where you lay flat on your back and stared at those millions of blinking stars and talked about life, death and friendships past. You discussed the complexities of things and the simplicity of some.
A fresh gentle breeze caressed my face as I sat then on the whitewashed parapet of my terrace abandoning everything but this beauty and serenity of the evening. Hanging my feet down, there I sat and watched the Moon come up and envelope everything in its silver expanse. Huge poplar trees hung their branches low as if to say ‘I have had a long day. Goodnight!” and swung to and fro dozing off to sleep.
The wind rustled through the neem tree that stood strong and calm. I looked upon it with great fondness as it was almost like it was a childhood companion. It had been perpetually there since I was born: sturdy as ever.
The white-washed parapets of my terrace looked like somebody had spread white linen sheets over them as they gleamed in the moonlight. And I just sat on: starring at the infinite space that surrounded me, comforted me. Occasionally a night owl hooted out from the dark withins of the tree as it settled down to keep watch.
There was tranquility in that moment. It was one of those points in my life that nothing had changed: where my past and present came together even though being away from home and from your family and friends changes things: it changes you. I somehow felt the transparency; the innocence of my years in India come back to me as I gazed on at the Moon as it silently rose above my head and smiled back at me.
As I stood up to leave; those silent, ancient grey tiles that generally looked so rough and dull at the first glance suddenly felt like silk under my feet and their strength felt secure. It felt like home again. It was home.