paper boats
The sun rose in the sky and then jammed at a particular spot like a hole in the wall that let the light in. The sky was painted in the shades of yellow and blue today. A rather weird combination for my canvas but beautiful one for the sky.
There were birds going from everywhere to everywhere. Sometimes, I thought that they were chasing each other in their massive playground. All of them flying high and then disappearing like the paper planes flown by me that were never found again. Is there some valley in the sky where they got lost?
The streets were deserted like the sunday corridors in school. Only a few passerbies passed like uninvited insects. Someone was sitting at the sidewalk, lost in thought like a warrior with many war stories ready to narrate to anyone who stops. But no one did. He looked up at the sky, the way one does when about to give a huge sneeze that never escapes your mouth. The sun was dim and thus felt like a friend who would call you on that Saturday evening when you feel extremely lonely. He bowed to his new found friend.
He felt a few flowers fall on his mangy legs that had flew from the adjacent tree. He picked one and marvelled at the beautiful pink, heart shaped petals of that octagonal flower. He felt like a grave that was receiving flowers. He looked up at the sky and made a list of the people who receive flowers:
1. God's idols
2. Graves
3. Lovers
4. Celebrities
He belonged to none.
So, he kept the flower back where it was.
He searched for warmth in that isolated town that lies in deep recesses of Gujarat. He had not eaten anything for the past one week. He had lost his family and friends in a flood. And now, all he got was a dream to find his family.
But there was none despite of the sun.
He could have got up and walk but he decided against it today. He was tired not just physically but emotionally too. Only the faint rhythm of his heart that he could feel when he would press his hands too hard, told him that he was alive, and that too not just physically.
He decided to take a day off from his gypsy schedule. And rest their underneath the adjacent tree that would shower flowers on his head, as if he were a coffin or a divinity. He collected some stones and placed them together. He prayed in front of it as if it contained God himself. Now, the flowers were for the idol made of stone.
He slept under the shade, chanting prayers in his dreams, not knowing that he would never wake up again. What he thought to be fatigue was actually death knocking at his door. He welcomed death with open arms and a bouquet of flowers. He made death sit in his unfurnished house like a respected guest. After all he had found his way to peace and maybe his family.
As he took his last breath, he placed himself neatly under the tree that would take the responsibility of burying him with a flowery shroud.
There were birds going from everywhere to everywhere. Sometimes, I thought that they were chasing each other in their massive playground. All of them flying high and then disappearing like the paper planes flown by me that were never found again. Is there some valley in the sky where they got lost?
The streets were deserted like the sunday corridors in school. Only a few passerbies passed like uninvited insects. Someone was sitting at the sidewalk, lost in thought like a warrior with many war stories ready to narrate to anyone who stops. But no one did. He looked up at the sky, the way one does when about to give a huge sneeze that never escapes your mouth. The sun was dim and thus felt like a friend who would call you on that Saturday evening when you feel extremely lonely. He bowed to his new found friend.
He felt a few flowers fall on his mangy legs that had flew from the adjacent tree. He picked one and marvelled at the beautiful pink, heart shaped petals of that octagonal flower. He felt like a grave that was receiving flowers. He looked up at the sky and made a list of the people who receive flowers:
1. God's idols
2. Graves
3. Lovers
4. Celebrities
He belonged to none.
So, he kept the flower back where it was.
He searched for warmth in that isolated town that lies in deep recesses of Gujarat. He had not eaten anything for the past one week. He had lost his family and friends in a flood. And now, all he got was a dream to find his family.
But there was none despite of the sun.
He could have got up and walk but he decided against it today. He was tired not just physically but emotionally too. Only the faint rhythm of his heart that he could feel when he would press his hands too hard, told him that he was alive, and that too not just physically.
He decided to take a day off from his gypsy schedule. And rest their underneath the adjacent tree that would shower flowers on his head, as if he were a coffin or a divinity. He collected some stones and placed them together. He prayed in front of it as if it contained God himself. Now, the flowers were for the idol made of stone.
He slept under the shade, chanting prayers in his dreams, not knowing that he would never wake up again. What he thought to be fatigue was actually death knocking at his door. He welcomed death with open arms and a bouquet of flowers. He made death sit in his unfurnished house like a respected guest. After all he had found his way to peace and maybe his family.
As he took his last breath, he placed himself neatly under the tree that would take the responsibility of burying him with a flowery shroud.
Chanchal Bagla
Comments
Post a Comment