This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 15; the fifteenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.
26th August 1967
Alston locality, Cumbria, UK
I'm not sure if I should consider myself lucky for having an opportunity to learn from the oral arguments in court. Oh boy, it was stressful. After such a day, I'm glad I took a day off from my Professor and colleagues and made it to this place from Durham. Alston, at it's location above sea level is a busy market place I must say. It is a small and scenic town, and is lovey this time of the year. As I wait for my train back, I sit on this bench and cogitate what a beautiful day it was. "Every moment is an experience!"
How I wish I had a chance to speak to that young lady I saw this morning. A beautiful young lady she's. She has got those big expressive eyes, the kind that sweeps you off your feet and make you feel like you are getting lost as you look into them. If only I had enough courage to barge in and initiate a conversation instead of silently sipping my coffee at the stone built Angel Inn. No wonder they say, "Good judgments come from experience and often experience comes from bad judgment."
Magnificence of seven centuries stood around me as I walked inside the St Augustine church, although majority of the church came down a couple of centuries ago. It has colourful stained glass paintings, but the one handed clock left an impression on me. It reminded me of the lines written by Henry Van Dyke for Katrina's Sundial - "Time is too slow for those who wait, too Swift for those who fear, too long for those who grieve, too short for those who rejoice; but for those who love, time is eternity". And we try to overcome our mind and it's perception of time, with our clocks ticking one second at a time. But, this one handed clock ticks only once in 15 minutes.
An old local businessman joined me during lunch. It was him who suggested me to try the famous Alston Cheese. Having learned that I'm a student from India studying law, we discussed various popular cases in the past few years. He studied Philosophy about 30 years ago and he fervently discussed how he wanted to do remarkable things in his life but could not. Is it really hard to break out of the cocoons we build around ourselves and to come outside our comfort zones to do what we really want to? After all, I'm not my job. "A musician must make his music, an artist must paint, a poet must write if he is to ultimately be at peace with himself."
Enjoying every bit of the natural beauty and Pennine landscapes, I walked to the Alston Train station. I could not resist using my expensive Polaroid pack camera to make a pictorial memory of this beautiful station. Quite old but an elegant brick structure designed artistically only to enhance the beauty of the nature that surrounds it.
As I finished reading the last word of the yellow wrinkled page from my dad's diary, I looked at the photo deeply. With every page I read, I get a little more close to him and it makes me much more happy that he wanted me to know him. Know him, and the world through his eyes, his ideas and his ideals. I still remember the day he told me how Alston and his experiences here were so important to him. And how he didn't let my mother go after he saw her for the first time in Bangalore in 1973. It still brings a smile on my face when I think of my dad's adventures in getting his lady love. He was my hero, and he still is. Here I'm in Alston on a cloudy and cold beautiful October evening, to experience live what my father has experienced more than 40 years ago.
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