Souls On Ice
Keep yours warm.
I love traveling- exploring the world, visiting new places, and experiencing the local culture of exotic locations. But more often than not, You’ll often find me on long bus rides, blissfully aloof in the back seat.
My mouth rarely takes a holiday. But I often fall into the arms of silence when I travel or commute.
Silent, because I’m quieted by that which meets my eyes.
~The smile on the face of the child that fell asleep in its mother’s arms.
~The couple walking hand in hand on the cold winter night.
~The two friends laughing over coffee in the café.
~The family of five on a single bike.
~The young kid crying for the biggest balloon.
~The smell of freshly fried samosas.
~Children playing hopscotch in one lane and Galli cricket in the other.
~The man on the cycle selling cotton candy and kulfi.
~Cows and buffaloes crossing the road slowly, veryyy slowly.
~Hymns from the temples.
~People eating Golgappas.
~The crowd outside the T.V store to watch the cricket match.
~Rangoli outside houses.
~Men pissing on the street.
~ The Streetside salons.
And then, as I stop at the red light, the march of the destitute begin.
~The old lady bent double with age.
~The man with the crutches.
~The little boy with charred hands.
~The little girl, selling flowers cheaper than ever.
~The old man who says he hadn’t eaten anything in three days.
The light goes green and I move on.
The world changes.
The dark truth meets the eyes. The smile slowly fades.
People sleeping on the pavements, in the cold night. They sleep there season after season, never properly covered.
I wonder how many of them had slept without food.
~The drunkard walking home. What problems might he have?
~The woman scouting the garbage bin for something that she could use. What would she give her children for breakfast?
~The old man parking his vegetable wagon at the corner of the road. Did he earn enough to feed his family?
~The little huts, which had plastic sheets for roofing. What do those people do during cold nights?
~The leper still begging on the street. Did his family abandon him because of the disease?
~The young boy, was he a runaway?
The single tear that rolled down my eye was not of sympathy or pain. It was in gratitude.
Gratitude for everything I have been blessed with.
Isn’t it a blessing? Properly functioning body parts, a presentable face, no fatal disease, timely food, a house to live in, and clothes to wear.
If this doesn’t make you feel blessed, and you do not feel a responsibility for the less blessed ones, then, somewhere in you humanity has died.
Everyone has their own story. Everyone has their struggles. Everyone has made mistakes and everyone has been brought down by life sometime or the other. Everyone has their demons. And dreams.
I once read somewhere, “If we all threw our problems in a pile and saw everyone else’s, we’d grab ours back.”
Then why do we struggle with our insecurities? Perhaps because we always compare our behind-the-scenes with everybody else’s highlight reel. Steve Furtick said that.
For those who get bitter with time, life is a bitch. But for those who get better, life is a beauty.
So watch what you think. Watch what you say. And watch how you treat other people. We all should. If you’re having a shitty day, chances are someone else is too. No need to compound it.
Be kind.
