Return to Tipasa (Hindi/हिंदी में)

For five days, Algiers was drowned in unceasing rain. The city of summers had become a liquid gray landscape, its white walls steaming in the damp. Having fled the "night of Europe" and the weary, winter faces of the post-war years, I walked the wet streets, waiting. I saw my own aging reflected in the faces of men I had known in youth. I waited with a singular purpose: to return to Tipasa.It is often foolish to revisit the sites of one’s youth, to attempt to relive at forty the freedom of twenty. I knew this risk. I had returned once before, shortly after the war, hoping to rediscover the liberty I had known among the ancient ruins, the scent of absinthe, and the sea. But that time, the ruins were fenced by barbed wire, guarded by officials. The war, with its tyrannies and policing, had invaded even this sanctuary. We had been forced to come to terms with "night," and the beauty of the day had become a fading memory. I realized then that innocence had been lost; we were all unintentionally guilty, caught in a time of morality and crumbling empires. I returned to Paris then, still feeling a void.I understood that I lacked the nobility to devote myself exclusively to unhappiness. To serve justice to the exclusion of beauty is to serve no one. If we cut ourselves off from the light, our hearts dry up. I needed to return to the source of joy to sustain the fight against injustice.Finally, the rain in Algiers stopped. A dazzling, liquid morning rose, washing the world clean. I set out for Tipasa. The sixty-nine kilometers of road were thick with memories of a violent, sun-drenched childhood and the insatiable energy of youth. Upon seeing the Chenoua mountain, the "old, unshakable, moss-covered god," I entered the ruins and found exactly what I had sought.In the glorious December light, the years of fury melted away. The ruins were silent, save for the sounds of birds and the sea. In this "deserted nature," I quenched the two thirsts that cannot be neglected: the thirst to love and the thirst to admire. I realized that Europe’s misery stems from its hatred of the daylight; in our clamor for justice, we have forgotten the light that gave it birth. Standing there, I discovered the central truth that had saved me from despair: "In the depths of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer."I knew I had to leave Tipasa again to return to Europe and its struggles. But I carried the memory of that day as a weapon against despair. The task of modern man is to walk a tightrope, to exclude nothing. We must weave a rope from strands of black and white. I cannot deny the light of my birth, nor can I reject the responsibilities of my time. There is a path between the "summits of the mind" and the "capitals of crime." I choose to accept both. I desire to be unfaithful neither to beauty nor to the humiliated.This balance is difficult. We live in noisy, hideous cities of iron and mist, deaf to secrets. I share the blood and unhappiness of my time; I cannot cut myself off from my own people. I will remain faithful to the struggle, marching through the storms. But I possess a secret knowledge buried in a valley of olive trees and light. It sustains me. And I hope that one day, when I am exhausted, I may renounce our "shrieking tombs" to lie down in that valley, under the unchanging light, and learn for the last time what I know. --------🙏 Support the Channel:🔸 Support via UPI: syllabuswithrohit@upi🔸 Buy Me A Coffee: buymeacoffee.com/SyllabuswithRohit