The Stillness Between Two Trees
Every day, along my usual running path, I pass a quiet, two-story house that feels like it’s been paused in time. Its gate, once sturdy and proud, now rusts gently under years of sun and monsoon. Ivy creeps through its bars, as though nature is reclaiming what was once hers. Towering on either side, two majestic Parijatha trees stand like sentinels — their fragrance spilling into the air like a silent hymn. And nestled humbly between them lies an old blue Ambassador car, swaddled in a thick green tarpaulin. That car — it’s been there for years. Unmoving. Undisturbed. Sleeping. I first noticed it as I ran past on cooler mornings, my skin warm from exertion and my breath chasing the breeze. The car looked almost holy in its stillness — a relic resting not in abandonment, but in peace. The dust had blanketed it like a soft shroud. Its tires, long deflated, seemed welded to the earth itself. No signboard explained its story. But its silence was loud. It spoke of journeys taken, of laughter...