I remember those wooden frames in my grandfather’s courtyard. We covered it with sheets, and made temporary shelters for ourselves on sultry afternoons, when the adults were all enjoying their air-cooled siesta inside.
Those were moments of freedom, of creativity for us, when unbound by rules, we created our own worlds and played out imaginary characters.
On my later trips, I found that the frames were incorporated in a very creatively designed temple – the kind which are made for worship and daily rituals at home. The frames which housed my childhood, now shelter gods.
I hear my cousin talk about replacing it with a marble temple, and I think about the frames again. I guess those were originally to hold portraits, but discarded later.
Maybe, they end up with a junk-seller, and wait for a new owner to add another layer of meaning to its existence.
Layers … are all we can add to something that exists.
Meaning … is only what my limited imagination reads
Truth …… is the perpetual and convertible nature of matter and energy.