ZikareSafar A journey back to the self
Zikaresafar : There was a girl who, after school, would climb the guava tree in the garden her home—not to pluck fruit, but to sit alongside the sky. She would take along a pencil drawing book, and a quiet mind, while the tree’s branches cradled her like an old friend.
A pond shimmered nearby, and on its bank stood a massive Pepal tree, casting a dense shade—standing tall as if a witness to a bygone era. For hours, she would sit in that tree’s embrace, tracing patterns on the ground with a wooden stick; it wasn’t merely art, but a conversation with nature—with the earth, the water, and the breeze.
As evening fell, she would climb the stairs to the roof and gaze out—beyond the village, toward the snow-capped mountains on the horizon. She would search for her own name amidst them, and somehow, somewhere between those distant peaks, she would always find it. That girl was me—Jyoti