Time is the devourer of all things, beauty, youth and loved ones. It dominates and controls us all. It ages us, weakens us, steals away our dear ones, and separates us from those whom we love and who love us. Nothing can truly overwhelm it, except action and memory — both of which hold a unique power to preserve time, to halt its cruel pace, or at least slow its hurried destruction. Time is measured by an action and action keeps it preserved because we remember it and cherish it close to our heart. An action registers time, fixes it in place, and momentarily controls its flow. Memory, on the other hand, recollects time, captures its movement, and makes it static.it can only be bound by memory. Marcel Proust in his book in search of the lost time says that memory beats time and redeems it, recovers it and keeps it preserved. People, places, and events also help us preserve time as they work as reminders of how time was spent and where, with whom and in doing what. They remain etched in memory, easy to revive and relive whenever we wish. Our memory has this gift — to recall people, places, and events, marking them as impressions that never fade. We must act in our lives in such a way that we make time memorable and beat its evanescent nature. We must record it by doing judicious acts that overwhelm it. On 26 August 2026, I had the privilege of going on a picnic with my colleagues. Schools rarely arrange staff picnics, and this was our very first. Living alone with my mother, it was difficult for me to join, but the insistence of colleagues persuaded me. But I am fond of capturing golden times from the busyness of life, for it is these memories that later become a source of joy when life pushes us to the extreme. Evenings, however, are sacred to me. I never leave my mother alone then, nor do I stroll out for long, because I am already away during the day due to work. Spending time with her is one of the best opportunities to learn wisdom. She narrates stories beautifully, and our conversations about life, people, and relationships are treasures I cannot replace. Parents in their old age do not need riches or luxuries; they need our time. They long to share their struggles, their sacrifices, and the hard lives they lived to raise us. They want listeners not speakers. They want their children to listen to their advices , experiences and untold tales of love , wisdom and life that they have preserved from the cruel hands of time from erasure and evanescence and want to transmit to their posterity. They are treasures we must never let slip away.So, while discussing the picnic plans — the date, the place, and everyone’s willingness — I agreed, but only on the condition that we return before evening prayers. My mother waits for me on the veranda, gazing at the gate, anxious if I am late. Mothers are divine beings who love selflessly and unconditionally, even when they are not loved in return. Their love earns them heaven and God’s special attention. I cannot bear to keep my mother waiting; it pains me deeply. That day, we left Doodpathri around 4 p.m., and I was happy knowing we would be home before evening prayers. But on the way, an untoward episode delayed us. Untoward for me, yet pleasant for others — for perceptions differ according to personal lives. Most of the staff got off the bus to buy makai choat (maize bread). For them, it was joy; for me, it was torment. I imagined my mother gazing at the gate, whispering questions: How was the picnic? Did you rejoice? Did you eat well? Why were you late? She always asks such questions when I return, and her happiness depends on my day having gone well.The haggling and buying stretched into almost an hour and a half. By the time we resumed our journey, it was too late. We reached home at 10 p.m. My mother was waiting, worried and restless. She had not eaten dinner, holding off until I returned. She loves me so much that even lunch is delayed until I come home at 2 p.m., so we can eat together. That night, I felt terribly sad. What amazed me was that most of my colleagues did not understand my condition — except for a few who sensed my unease. How deeply our personal state of being affects everything we do — picnics, work, meetings, and even the way we perceive life. Everything we experience and express is driven by our circumstances. We must not treat others as strange or different if they think or speak in another way. Instead, we must step into their shoes, understand their conditions, and only then form an opinion about them.

Email:--------------------azaadbhat28@gmail.com