January 15, 2022

I bought myself coffee and settled on a nearby bench. A lady and a young man were sitting in front of me. They seemed mother and son by their gestures. It was the fifteenth consecutive day that the sun hadn't spread its rays. This is the problem with the plains. When I'm at home, on the hills, I get to witness the sun, even if it is for a few minutes. But in the plains, it seems impossible to get blessings from the Sun God during winter.

Some readers might be aware that I'm not a big fan of cloudy days. These grey skies color my heart blue and blue skies make me cheerful. I wanted to push clouds aside and take some warmth from the sun. Obviously, I couldn't do it, so I indulged myself in a favorite habit of mine, observing (one might say snooping in strangers' lives).

The scene around me was simple, some were heading to their destination, some were hanging around. A person who makes paid sketches of people was sketching a kid sitting in front of him. It was evident from the kid's face that he wanted to get the job done soon so that he could run and play. But he had already accepted the bribe of ice cream from his parents, which was yet to be paid.

I wondered, what if someone was observing me as I usually observe others. Silently. I want to see myself through a stranger's lenses. What would my portrait be? A lot of people take notice of us when we go down a street. But how many do make us a part of their story? There might be few, but like those unaware people, those strangers who are part of our story, we don't know. 

Who has the time to think about all of this? Soon I would dump all of these thoughts. Because we're like that kid who didn't even look at his sketch and ran to play in his own world.