I trace the perimeter of the blossom. The petals are wrapped lovingly together as if conducted to a waltz. The partners have frozen in time, forever entangled in their embrace. The sunlight on the morning dew sparkles as chandeliers of their universal ball.
I follow the trails left by the droplet of ink through the crystal goblet of water. How it floats and sways, leaving behind a pattern I liken to a music note that hasn’t been heard. It cuts through the dense path with a calm assurance of its beauty and lazy in its power.
I grasped for the desert sands flowing down the dune with my bare hand. There is a smooth ripple to their fall, like the mouth of a waterfall breaking and surrendering to gravity. There is a rush to break the unwrinkled carpets of sands – a rebel without a cause, it finds respite at the curved bottom.
I focus on the edge of the damp canvas touched by the tip of the paintbrush. From a singular point, the colour spreads like a blossoming flower springing free from the locks of the bud. Even inanimate, it follows the random uniformity otherwise impossible to replicate.
I blow at faerie dust and watch the particles pirouette in the lonely ray of the afternoon light before landing on the polished wood. The gold and amethyst cloud forms patterns that reflect the midnight sky with starlight twinkling solemnly of promises being made across the world.
￼Even when you break patterns, it leads to an inconsistency so perfect that it becomes a part of the perfection.
I love a routine that keeps changing – an oxymoron, yes. There is certain stuff I need to do in a particular sequence and then there are things where I regularly shake things up. Food, exercise, music and books, the set-up of my room, places and faces around are just some examples.
I think I have mentioned I love running. But I tire of the treadmill. So I hunted for other options for a change of pace and path. Now there is a running track close to my place that I have been haunting for two years now. To empty my mind, I unknowingly started making observations and filed them to memory during my runs.
And I saw the beauty routine brings. I remember faces and the company they keep. I have been an unintended witness to the transitions that they have been through. A lady who used to get a stroller for her baby now holds her hand as they walk together. Those tiny feet used to be encased in booties and now carry an exuberant talkative munchkin. I have seen the woman become a little soft around the edges and smile secretly at the antics of her daughter. She is restrained when an older lady accompanies her – perhaps her mother-in-law?
I also see a man with a big handlebar mustache who has been a regular around the track. He has changed too! About two years back, he was morbidly obese and could only walk a few steps before stopping. And now his strides are brisk, considerable pounds lighter. The only thing not changed is his set determined expression. He does not look up and nod at people unless he is at rounding a corner. He is one hundred percent focused on his walk.
Then there is a set of cute grandparents. Walking stick in each hand, a grocery bag strung over one shoulder at times – they stick to one round. No more. No less. There is a group of people they frequently run into. Grandpa is the one with the booming voice and Grandma has a gentle hum to her laugh. They look so sorted! And they always smile at me whenever I happen to pass by, calling out a “saavkash beta” (Take care child!) when I trip – which happens a lot!
Who knew I was a closeted
stalker people-watcher?? Makes me wonder what guest appearances I may have made for other people, slipping in and out with no set days. What they might have seen on my face over the last two years?
Tell me a story about your observations. About those strangers who are so familiar for a few moments.