The Swing in the Courtyard

An Evening in Dadi’s Courtyard
The summer evening breeze was cool, carrying the smell of jasmine from the garden. Chotu sat on the old wooden swing in the courtyard, pushing himself lazily with one foot. “Dadi, yeh jhoola toh bahut purana hai… kyun nahi naya lete?” he asked. Dadi chuckled, settling beside him. “Arre beta, is jhoolay par toh tumhare papa bhi baithe the… aur main unhe kahaniyan sunati thi.” Her eyes softened as she ran a hand over the smooth wooden armrest, worn shiny from years of use. “Naya cheez le sakte hain, lekin purani yaadein… woh sirf jee jaati hain, badli nahi jaati,” she said gently. Chotu looked up, suddenly swinging higher, as if wanting to feel the same joy his father must have felt years ago. And in that quiet moment, he understood — some things are not just made of wood or rope, but of memories stitched into time.

Moral:
Some treasures can’t be bought — they are carried in our hearts, not in our hands. 💛