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A ‘GYAFF’
Dear Editor,
Kaieteur News – We love to gyaff under the jamun tree, at street corner, or at the seawall.
“How you do padna?”—the sweetest words ever heard.
Cold indeed is the heart that moves along the dusty lanes, and not a word, a smile, or a raised hand that could’ve brightened a face.
But that’s not the way of the people in the village I knew.
We love to gyaff—the greatest thing after paratha roti.
Dreary the day, though the sun’s awake, that’s without a gyaff or two, and the laughter that makes life worth living, and not the feeling it’s mere whining and hustling.
And give me just one minute of a good gyaff, than a week where it’s all serious study and talk.
It’s the proximity of hearts that fetch the joy of a gyaff.
The cold shiny screen brings the world in one room, but each still stranded on a lonesome shore— I see no tap on shoulder, no warm embrace that tells of a felt closeness.
And when we begin to count our blessings, we extoll and give new meanings to little things.
The joy soon wears off from that posh car or house in the gated village, but a gyaff with the boys when the day is done, leaves in the heart the brightness of the sun.
Yours respectfully,
Haimnauth Cecil Ramkirat
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