Baby, you make me sing!

It is amazing how a little human being with tiny feet, pink cheeks and hair like strands of silk, can make a singer out of anyone.

The beauty of singing for a child is in its spontaneity. You have no idea whatsoever of what you’re singing; you just start ‘la-la’ing off to make the baby stop crying. And when it seems to work, when the frown is gone, and the eyes shift focus on to you, or close peacefully in slumber, you suddenly realize that the gibberish you sang was really a tune. And you sing it again and in loop. Right then, at that point, you become a singer. No matter how harsh a voice you think you have, when the baby in your palms will start to cry, you will sing. And that song will be the most beautiful, because you will have no idea of where the song came from, and you will want to sing it again and again, just to re-experience the joy of having relieved the divine little being of its restlessness.

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His soul. Not for sale.

In the car, I made a bubble with a bubble gum. On the street, he made a hundred with his bubble guns..

He didn’t sell any bubble guns, but he beautified the scene… And just as the traffic cleared, and I saw him walk by, I saw his last bubble.

And I burst mine.

What you don’t remember

Turns out we don’t remember a lot of stuff. Even stuff that we thought we would never forget.

Things like nicknames, or days we thought were historic in our lives, or the lame jokes we shared in college, or the best hangouts ever.
Things that once used to be ‘our thing’s.

Well, we do have a few things that connect us to our past – pictures, videos, journal writings, poems, music, people…
Look around you, and everything you have has a story behind it. Continue reading “What you don’t remember”

Curiosity made best friends

“Ask me questions. I love your questions.” he said.

And he loves answering them. Especially when they are about the universe, about the stars and the planets, about evolution and everyday science.

I’m baffled, most of the times. I find that I know very little about this world after all. Things that seem so obvious to me, are not so obvious.

His revelations amaze me, and sometimes, I so want to stick to my beliefs, and he so wants to stick to the facts, that we have an argument, a fight. Over science. That’s right.

But whether it leaves me amazed or mad, I learn something.

Maybe sometimes he does, too, when he asks me about non-science stuff.

And that’s how our conversations have grown. That’s how we got interested to talk more and more to each other. Questions. Answers. Amazement. Admiration.

We’ve been the best of friends a long time.

 

Freedom from…conformity (The Life Laboratory)

If only we all took pride in thinking for ourselves.

And did not weave our entire lives in order to conform with what has been thought for us.

What if we could envision that this whole world is one big laboratory, the ‘Life’ laboratory, where each of us is born, and we conduct our own experiments, have our own little accidents, and come to our very own findings before we leave the laboratory, just as empty and wonderful as it was?

Continue reading “Freedom from…conformity (The Life Laboratory)”

Freedom From…Perfection

Picked white flowers fallen on the rain-soaked road on a breezy post-shower evening.

Walked all alone with myself, breathed in the sweet smell of wet mud, and sighed.

As the skies got darker, and so did all the colours of nature around me, I saw the miracle and the life that exists in that changing.

Life exists in changing.

I was alone, and I felt safe in my arms and in my mind.

I looked around, and for a moment, I felt like an invisible particle of the universe, something that existed only to observe and rejoice in the observation.

Then when I closed my eyes and looked nowhere, I felt that what was inside me was the centre of the universe.

I held those flowers together in my muddy hands. I felt the graininess of the moist soil on my fingers. The graininess, that which I came from.

I saw with magnifying eyes, traces of earth, black and brown, sprinkled and smeared across those pretty little whitelings.

What beauty in imperfection! I thought.

I caressed their petals, as the thought caressed my soul.