Once Upon A Time in a Patch of Moss…

Dear Journal

Today was a simply fascinating day. I became deeply engrossed in a mossy patch that I spotted on the wall of my garden. It’s not a garden per se, more of a rooftop mishmosh of flowers, herbs and young fruit trees.  I don’t really know what fascinated me about it. Was it the texture? The vibrant colour, perhaps? The association with rainy days and petrichor, of life and torrential aquatic fiestas?

It took me back to the days when we lived in Kerala. As a lot of you probably know, Kerala is a place festooned with monsoon. There’s never a shortage of water and there’s always this breath of fresh air that you don’t get in most urban cities in India. (Also the Internet connection we had there was flawless.) So I remember my mum calling me outside every once in a while , picking up a few ancient sodden branches and setting off on the epic quest that was : wait for it….. moss scraping.

The wall surrounding our house was made of stone. And on wet stone, by biological law, grows moss. It was fun, I agree, but a very time-consuming, very laborious process that I, as a kid, didn’t really want to take part in most of the time. But eventually I went, rolling up my purple capris and gripping that stick as if it were a jousting thingamajig, and setting off like Miss Lancelot to clean the massive expanse of the wall outside.

There, you just spent a few decent minutes reading about…moss. I like moss. It’s bouncy. On that random note, I close.


The Nerdy Snickerdoodle


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