The tinkling of the temple bells reverberated around. Waking up sleepy eyes. Dragging lazy souls. Compelling stubborn ones to get ready. For school. For colleges. For offices. For hospitals.
For life. And for livelihood.
That's how the day began. Almost every time. Showing minimal chances of changing. But this is life . It can change. Any moment. Any instant. Without giving the slightest hint.
And that's what happened . On a Monday morning. After a steamy cup of green tea.
The clouds slowly drifted apart. Giving space for morning rays to fill in. The dark brown curtains gently brushed aside with the crimson colored book rack. Books new and old peeped in for a loving glimpse of their admirer, their friend, their beloved. Who finds peace inside their pages and life along with them.
At a distance. Bit far. Smoke rose up. Building circles in the air. And also curiosity. There sat someone basking in the morning sun. Trying to ward off chilly winds. His eyes fell on him. An old man. Homeless. A regular in the locality. His vision traveled a bit far. Towards a roof. With half built steps. A broken doorway. Languishing alone. Just like him. He thought. Making a creaky sound with every undesired move.
The vision traveled still afar. Crossing the coconut tress. Crossing their curvy bodies. Ignoring the play of sunshine between their leaves. Just giving it a thoughtful moment like a soft caressing.
It traveled further ahead. To a land unknown. Or known. A land concealed. Or revealed. A land that existed or may be not. A land where stood a beautiful house. With walls painted. Like the colors of a rainbow. Purple. Red. Yellow. Green. With stripes of white adoring it. At the edges and near the window sills. With a small balcony on the first floor. Not too small indeed. Enough for spending sometime. Alone. Without a company, neither to question nor seek answers. A corner. Peaceful one. Bejeweled with flowers. Same like the walls. Purple. Red . Yellow. And leaves, Green. Hanging freely on the pots. That seemed to enjoy the company of the breeze. Swinging in and out, along with it. Carefree. Unworried. Jealousy engulfed his mind. Questioning. Why is he trapped inside the never ending world of success and failure. Seizing his every moment. Clutching him. Unlike the flowers.
“A gift awaits you” someone spoke. “Where” he asked
And he sat down. On the bamboo chair. Relaxing himself a bit. Feeling the air around. Feeling the sunshine. Blank sheets of paper chuckled on the table. And the silver colored pen rolled nearby. To feel his finger tips.
“Abhi” a voice floated from the other room. “I think you are getting late”.
“Not today” he mumbled “at least” with a curvy smile that drifted his lips slightly apart, creating a dimple below the lower one.
And the tinkling of the bell reverberated around. May be from a land that exists.
Pic : Google Images
“Imagination is the beginning of creation. You imagine what you desire, you will what you imagine, and at last, you create what you will” – George Bernard Shaw