I woke up with the first rays of the sun today. My bed was warm and I wanted to sleep for a little longer. But I remembered that I had my last criminology lecture of the year at 8am and bounded from under the covers. I sneaked a peek outside and a feeling of contentment settled in my heart when I saw the glorious morning which was waiting to be tasted, to be lived, and to be enjoyed in all it’s simplistic grandeur. Having taken care of the daily rituals of early morn, I proceeded to be swayed by Hiruma Himawari’s flawless piano rendition of ‘When the Love Falls”. Incidentally, I happened to discover the magic of Hiruma while watching the movie “Twilight” for the second time yesterday. I was so enthralled by the music of the above that I youtubed the soundtrack and there began my chance acquaintance with a wonderfully talented artist who has struck a chord in the innermost vibrations of my being.
My room was transformed into a peaceful abode and I savoured the spell which lingered on even after the music softly died away. Nothing soothes the soul quite much as music played for the glory of the Lord: graceful, wholesome, passionate and eternal. Outside, the melody of birds found its rhythm with the sweet caress of the wind. The result was a pleasing sound which earned the credit of making me fall in love with nature all over again. To be at peace with Mother Nature is to be at peace with oneself and such a feeling is priceless.
I opened the refrigerator and poured a generous dose of milk in my favourite blue bowl and the cereals crackled with complicity. The cold milk received a warm welcome by my senses and wetted my dry lips, only to trickle amusedly down my parched throat. Breakfast completed, my prayers said and done, I prepared two emmental cheese and jam sandwiches, dressed lightly in blue jeans, a sunflower- yellow T-shirt and my favourite pale blue pair of trainers and set out into the provincial domain to fulfil the day’s duties. The short bus ride to the Aix law faculty was uneventful, save from a humongous smile accorded to me by the lady bus driver. I grinned inwardly when I arrived on campus and was greeted by the lovely rose garden which was in full blossom and had already lost all its morning dew in the heat game played by the untamed sun.
A light breeze ruffled the mess which supposedly gave itself the name of hair and pink rose petals and dead leaves swirled at my feet. I headed in the direction of the ‘Boulan’ amphitheatre and a wave of sadness washed over me as I realised that this would be my last criminology lecture ever in this faculty with a lecturer which commanded both my admiration and respect for delivering with gusto and never giving his audience a dull moment. As I scribbled away during the two hours which followed, I was immensely thankful and grateful for the year spent in Aix and quite sorry at the prospect of leaving all too soon. Monsieur Lassalle ended the ‘cours’ with his usual inwardly satisfied crooked smile and wished us luck for the exams, amidst a round of hearty applause as a note of thanks for the knowledge that he imparted so gratuitously.
The rest of the day was spent in an overheated university library which apparently had not equipped itself with an air conditioning system and revision notes of droit des contrats, droit constitutionnel, droit delictuel, criminology, and histoire du droit, were scribbled away very painfully amidst suffocation and dehydration. Still my resolve refused to suffer a blow and give in to the whims of bad (or non-existent) air conditioning. So I buried myself in the ‘delightful’ subject of ‘la division horizontale des pouvoirs’ and endured, till hunger pangs demanded a bite of the sandwiches in the company of white, pink, red, and yellow roses. I found a nice bench in the shade and devoured the cheese with a voluntary ‘gourmandise’, read a few pages of ‘Toujours Provence’ and laughed at Peter Mayle’s benevolent outlook on life, while my ears enjoyed the privilege of being soothed by the genius of A R Rehman’s Delhi 6 album and the excellent voice of Kailash Kher in the song ‘Arziyan’. Another three hours elapsed in the joys of french law and when I walked back home in the blistering heat later during the day, tired but blissfully happy, I mused about the fact that nearly nine months ago, I was complaining about my fate. Fate, it seems, has this unusual way of turning itself into what we make of it…Life is good, it has always been and will always be.
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