Ordinary

Random Sketches By R.K Laxman

 
 
 
 
It talked to me and I listened quietly… it talked about the rugged old path that awaits coming of the travellers… travellers who are in the search for a new land and a new sky, a fresh start full of hope; the smoothened grass and dry pebbles, the inquisitive birds and the pleasant wind, the old temple and the thatched huts all count the footsteps and welcome the happy hubbub.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It talked about the decrepit palaces hiding its mysterious past from the sharp gazes, waiting for the patient one to stop by. The glorious lives and horrific battles have so much to share.
 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
The flora and fauna sang a soulful tune, absorbed in it and lost in the moment. The jungle painted the sky with leaves.
 
 

 

 

 

 

 
 
It talked about the people, their traditions, their beliefs and their stories; that look, that frown, that toothless smile, that gnarled nod and the dancing feet spoke to me and I listened quietly.
 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
And I found out then, how magical the ordinary is.
 
 
 

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Gloriously Ordinary

Starstruck by the ordinary.
[Image by Jo Justino from Pixabay]

Today is boring, today is dull. How can I float up high without looking at the sky? Keener eyes not grounded, but in the middle of this and that, hers and mine, cries and sighs, laughs and jitters, cuckoo and balderdash, all this and a pinch more with a tinge of lustrous gold, confronts me every lethargic moment asking me to be agile and give an answer not a reply, one that is worthwhile.

Sham, it is a sham, I shout. The next moment I am out in the middle of that riddle, attacked badly by the crowd. Glares wicked or kind, I tell you are invincible.

Hush! Hush! Staying quiet is the key.

A fresh beginning, in between, for me as I get up to admire the quagmire that glows and shows me nothing.  And what do I do? I hum a rhythm, I jig a little. Smoothly I begin dancing, hand movements and the twist and then the circle. Round and round and round.

I see an image in and around me crystallising, a translucent image, spreading like a wave, filling the ceiling, passing through the windows, leaving behind glorious dirt particles and a thin film of light.

And so I sit and admire the ordinary.


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