Knows no fear
All his life
With an eraser.
Knows no fear
All his life
With an eraser.
It’s the beginning of a new month again. And, it’s time for a resolution for a Power of Everyday project !
Before I share my new projects for the month of February, I would like to update you about how I did with the projects I had taken up in the month of January.
I had two tasks for January 2019,
1) Write and Publish a blog post everyday
2) Sketch / Paint everyday
Now, with the first task, while I wasn’t able to write a new post every single day, I did dig into my archives and found something meaningful to post every single day of the month.
31 posts on 31 days !
Sketching and painting was a fun exercise overall. After sketching everyday for 31 days, I feel much more sensitised to details and aestheics than I was before. I have not become a sketch artist by any means and much of my sketching looks like a child’s work, but I still found value in sketching everyday.
In fact, after going through the experience of sketching everyday, I realised just how much detail is hidden in seemingly mundane objects. It helped me design the next project for the month of February.
Here are the two challenges I am taking up in February:
1) Write and Publish a blog post a day
2) Write one page about an object
The first task has been carried over from the last month.
The second task is designed to develop nunace and sensitivity in observing everyday objects.
I hope you choose a simple task for this month and join me on this journey.
I promise you that you will learn a lot in the process.
I will keep you updated about my progress at the end of every week.
Let’s do this together.
More power to you !
The earth swirls
Under a cosmic lamp
Night and Day.
Leaning on each other
Are books on a bookshelf
And they whisper together
Of the stories they contain…
Situated side by side
Sharing a wall
In the morning
The temple prays
In the shadow of the mosque
In the evening
The mosque prays
In the shadow of the temple
Both shrines, they hum
And watch each other’s back
For they share,
The same spine
The temple’s bell
A muezzin’s call
Do faiths entwine
We wear different caps
But should we ever fight
For what’s yours
And what’s mine?
So shall we stand
In each other’s shadow
The sun shines?
Can sing a few lines?
In a rhythm divine
Of this elegant design?
Pierces through the crack on the roof
A mote of dust
Dances in the spotlight
It was a windy winter morning. Little Kalpana was standing on the pavement next to the traffic signal, waiting for the lights to turn red. She was a balloon seller, like the many other kids who lived on the streets. The one minute window of red lights on the traffic signal was the arena of her life. She held a wooden stick that had 10 balloons tied on to it. The colorful balloons dangled in the air as she ran from windscreen to window, hoping to make a sale.
That morning, an elderly gentleman named Ajay, was strolling on the pavements. He had taken a detour from his usual morning walk route in the park. From far away, he could see bright balloons hanging in the air, rising up from the stalled traffic. It was a wonderful sight to witness from a distance. He strutted slowly towards the balloons.
But as he got closer to the signal, the traffic lights turned green, and all cars moved onward. What was left was a little girl, with ten balloons, standing barefoot on the dusty road. The colorful sight of the balloons suddenly lost all its charm. Ajay, realized that the little girl was selling balloons for a living.
As he came closer to the traffic signal, Kalpana ran towards him, hoping to sell a balloon to the old man.
There were no words spoken. Ajay stopped on the pavement, and Kalpana stood right in front of him, with hope in her eyes.
Ajay smiled. In that moment, he gave her something that was denied to her all her life. A modicum of attention.
He dug into his pocket and slid out a ten rupee note. Kalpana’s eyes lit up. She quickly untied a yellow balloon from her stick and offered it to the old man.
Ajay gave the ten rupee note to her. He held the soft thread that was tied on to the yellow balloon. He smiled and offered the balloon to Kalpana.
She could not understand the transaction. The old man looked into her eyes one last time and walked away. Little Kalpana stood on the pavement with the ten rupee note and the yellow balloon in one hand and the stick with nine balloons in the other hand.
Before she could take a moment to understand what had happened, the traffic began to swell up. She quickly got to work again, trying to sell balloons on the roadside.
Later in the evening, she was left with two balloons. In her right hand, she had the yellow balloon and dangling from the stick in her left hand, there was a red balloon.
A lady in a car summoned Kalpana by blaring her car horn. She ran quickly to her, hoping to sell the last balloon and go home.
The lady asked for two balloons. Kalpana looked up at both the balloons.
At that moment, as she looked at the yellow balloon, a strong feeling took over her heart. How could she sell the yellow balloon? It was hers!
Somehow, she found the courage to say she only had one balloon to sell.
The lady in the car asked for the yellow one for her kid seated next to her. Little Kalpana was firm about her emotion for the yellow balloon. She told the lady that only the red balloon was up for sale.
The signal was about to turn green soon. Caving to the wheedling of her little kid, the lady in the car bought the red balloon from Kalpana. Soon, the car was gone, in the direction of the next traffic signal.
Kalpana was only left with one balloon. The yellow one.
A smile surfaced on Kalpana’s innocent face. She danced her way to her hut next to the pavement, with the yellow balloon, the sun of her life.
That morning, the elderly gentleman Ajay, had bought something priceless with just ten rupees.
With the compassionate transaction, he had brought Kalpana, a moment of her own childhood.
Photo by Sagar Patil via Unsplash
Two flags flutter across borders,
The wind touches them
Just the same.
If a tree had eyes,
And man had a conscience
What would happen
When their eyes meet?
All day, Every day,
Ever since time,
The sky has been saying
That it is not the color blue
Have your eyes ever listened?
And one fine day,
Ever since our fight,
You have been saying,
‘I do not love you anymore’
Yet, would my eyes ever listen?
That’s the blindness man is blessed with,
The sky is not blue,
The love has gone sour,
All we would see is Blue
And I would see is Love…
Riddled in riddles of reality
Removed from rationalisation
How do I explain this blindness?
If the sky is blue to you,
Why is my love such a surprise?
Perhaps, you will only know,
When you look into your eyes,
Through my eyes.
Photo : By Na Inho via Unsplash