The only other sound's the sweep...of gentle wind and downy flake..
The boat hums as it gently makes its way down the creek. There is silence all around. Save for the sound of water lapping on the sides of the boat. The pace is laidback. Almost as if cautious not to cause a ripple in the stillness.
The palm trees sway to the gentle breeze. The paddy fields stretch as far as the eye can see. Locals working in them dot the fields from far seeming like a few drops of color in the stretches of green.
A coconut in one hand, the pen in another. Never have I felt so inspired to write. The water continues gently splashing on the sides of the boat.
City life seems to lose its significance here. It's as if my watch has stopped. It is a moment. And me in it. And suddenly, there is clarity. This is what I was born to do. Write. And it took a trip across the length of the country for me to realise it.
The boat hums along, snaking its way through the backwaters of Kerala like a lazy reptile. The gentle breeze blows through my hair. This is life. If there is a heaven, it is here. This truly is...god's own country...