Just another piece...

The hats off goes to the original anonymous creator of the painting who inspired me so much that I couldn't help but copy it :D
And a pat on my back to have accomplished the feat using the much underrated pencil colors as a choice for colors :D :D :D
(By the way, the sincerity and efforts deserve special mention for the fairy-tale look and feel ;))

I wonder...

"If you can't explain something to a five year old, you don't understand it well enough". Keep hearing this all the time.

Now the problem: If you do simplify/explain things this way, your understanding/analysis is thought of as lacking depth or the subject is thought of as too easy. But you get brownie points for your communication skills.

Have the efforts received fair treatment?

Are we obsessed with complexity?

Are we used to scoffing and ridiculing people to whom it LOOKS LIKE things come easily?

Dead or Alive?

Paul Simon's "Sound of Silence"... Makes me tap my feet, at the same time taking me on to a completely different plane, quaintly fading, strangely comforting!

Hello darkness, my old friend,
I've come to talk with you again,
Because a vision softly creeping,
Left it's seeds while I was sleeping,
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence.
In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone,
Neath the halo of a street lamp,
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence.

And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more.
People talking without speaking,
People hearing without listening,
People writing songs that voices never share
And no one dare
Disturb the sound of silence.

Fools said I, you do not know
Silence like a cancer grows.
Hear my words that I might teach you,
Take my arms that I might reach you.
But my words like silent raindrops fell,
And echoed
In the wells of silence

And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon God they made.
And the sign flashed out it's warning,
In the words that it was forming.
And the sign said, the words of the prophets

Are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls.
Whispered
In the sound of silence.

The face I'll never forget

Yesterday, I went to Marine Lines for some me time . To see the red sun dunk into the expanse of the Arabian Sea is an experience so fulfilling, I don't mind traveling three and a half hours in Mumbai's overcrowded local trains to feel it. And I do it very often. Yesterday, was a little different though. Instead of the gratifying feeling I get every time, something weighed heavily on me while I was leaving.

There was this little girl, hardly 4-5 who came to me with little red roses clenched in her little fists and asked me if I could buy one. I looked at her. A lean dusky innocent face, very striking because unlike those street urchins who get used to the grind and harsh realities of life, becoming big and bratty too soon, this one had sadness and it felt like she had been forced to get to work. There were dried tear marks on her cheeks. Lovingly, I asked, "Kitne ka hai?".

"Dus", she replied.

I took one from her and reached out for my pocket to pay. I had one 50 rupee note and one 100 rupee note. I asked her, "Aapke paas change hai?"

"Nahi", she said.

I found myself in an uncomfortable situation. I didn't want to let her go without having bought the rose. I didn't want her to not have achieved what she wanted to. In this case, the objective was as small as selling a rose for mere ten rupees.

For a moment I thought, I can give her 50 for the rose. But then I was like, "50 for 1 rose?That's too much!" I had actually wanted just one and that too for the sake of that little girl. And that feeling was so overwhelming, it just didn't strike me that I could buy 5 roses for 50. The "charity" figure of "rupees 10" was so imprinted in my mind, that when I realized I didn't have 10 rupees, I felt helpless. I felt bad, but I just let her go, saying, "Sorry, dus nahi hai." She didn't say anything and walked away asking the completely lost-in-each-other couple next to me to buy one. And not surprisingly, they were least bothered to even look at her.

Hurriedly I reached for my bag hoping to find the orange I had dropped into it while leaving home.After groping for sometime I realized, I had given it away to an old poor woman at the station on my way.

Somehow, the guilt of not being able to help the child started to fade away. I literally spoke these words to myself , "I did my part today. I gave the old woman something to eat."

I just kept watching the little girl walk from person to person. The sun had set, it grew dark and soon she was out of sight.

Then came the chai wala. I felt elated. "I'll get the change from the chai wala and buy a rose from the little one. I'll give her 20 for 1." I hoped,I prayed the little girl to come back the same route so I could buy from her. I waited, 5 minutes...10 minutes...20 minutes...she didn't come back.

I felt bad. I felt sad. I felt guilty. What stopped me from giving away the fifty rupee note I had in my pocket? And what on earth made me ask her for change? Did she even know the math? We are so occupied with the value of money and making loads of it that losing some of it for a good deed is an action against our programmed minds. Haven't we conditioned our minds against our souls whose inherent nature is to find oneness in all? To connect and to help? Fifty wasn't too much for me, but it would have meant a lot to her.

I got up, hating myself. Kept walking, battling my thoughts, staring at the dark sea.