THE LONGEST ROUTE HOME - AN EVENING I'D LOVE TO RELIVE

If I could relive one ordinary day, it wouldn’t be a festival, a trip, or a milestone. It would be one of those childhood evenings in our village when my father took my younger sister and me to the market not by the shortest route, but by the long, winding one through the greenery.

Back then, we never questioned why he chose that detour. We thought it was just for the joy of the ride. Now I know those paths were his quiet gift, a way to help us see the world through his eyes.

We would hop onto his old scooter, me clinging to the handle in front and my sister holding on behind. The roads were narrow, lined with mango trees and mustard fields swaying in the evening breeze. Small mud houses glowed softly in the fading sunlight. Birds chirped in the distance, cows wandered lazily across the lanes, and the scent of wet soil after a brief drizzle lingered in the air.

Every turn of the road felt like an adventure. Every pause to greet a villager or watch children playing in the fields became a lesson in simple joy. We were never in a hurry. For us, it was just an evening ride. For him, it was a moment to share his world with us.

At the market, he would park the scooter carefully, bargain gently with the shopkeepers, and somehow always end up buying a little something extra: a mango, a sweet, or a small toy for us. My sister and I would chatter endlessly, pointing at everything and asking questions he always answered with patience. That walk, that ride, and those small discoveries were life lessons disguised as ordinary moments.

Now, years later, the village hasn’t changed much, but he has. The old scooter, the mustard fields, and the narrow paths still exist in my memory, but his presence does not. Sometimes, when I see children running through green fields or hear the rustle of leaves in the wind, I can almost feel him beside me again - calm, patient, guiding, smiling.

If life ever gave me the chance to relive one ordinary day, it would be that evening ride through our village, with the wind, the greenery, and the quiet joy of being with him. Not to change a thing, not to say anything, just to feel it all again.

Because in that simple ride, I learned what it meant to love, to observe, and to see the world with wonder.

This post is a part of Blogchatter Half Marathon 2025