A Melody From the Heaven
It’s 3 AM and you are lying on your bed. The ambiance of the room is as silent as the grave; all you can hear is the ticks of the wall clock — loud and clear as if it’s in your head.
You open your eyes and start staring at the rotating ceiling fan that’s repeating the same circle. Again, and again, and again — just like life repeating the same monotonous routine.
This is the time when your conscience wakes up and interrogates you. Questions you about your passion. Your aspiration.. your muse.
While hearing the howling dogs in the distance and pondering upon the questions of your conscience, you come up with analyzed excuses —
“I work 10 hours a day. That’s tiresome! How can someone even think about other activities? (Oh! And the 2 hours of commute in terrible traffic)”
“It’s hard to balance work, family, and personal life with a side hustle.”
“There is a boulder of responsibilities on my shoulder.”
And you go to sleep numbing your conscience.
Have you ever gone through the same situation?
Yes?
Well, then welcome to the valley of 3-AM thoughts. And you are not alone here.
I’m an aspiring writer and an artistic soul. Though I love my job as a content writer, I feel there is a lot I want to do, but the work is just spilling out of my days.
I want to learn new skills, hit the gym, make beats, and work on my songs but can hardly spare time for all these. And sometimes it gets frustrating.
A few days back at my workplace, I had lunch and went for a walk to pacify these kinds of thoughts. I was strolling in the corridor on the 10th floor, gazing at the huge blobs of clouds dissolving in the sky.
Minutes after some walk, I heard a mellifluous melody. A honey-like soothing tune of the flute. And it was coming from the stairways.
Lured to investigate the flutist, I silently sneaked toward the stairs; I didn’t want to interrupt the graceful music.
And what I saw was a guy in a blue uniform sitting at the stairs, playing the flute accompanied by the sound of Tanpura on a device. On his left was a pair of ragged black rubber slippers and on his right was a steel lunchbox and see-through plastic water bottle. And what else I could see was a divine radiance on his face.
He was the elevator man practicing his music during the break hours.
I should mention that his name is Vipul. And probably also that he’s blind since birth.
I sat on the stairs for a while, enjoyed the aura of his tune, and had a hearty talk.
I learned he works 12 hours a day and goes through many hardships in his life because of his impaired vision. Yet he manages time to practice his art. He even teaches music after work hours and has a gig with his orchestra next month on the 10th. Vipul is living his passion just the way he should, with or without sight.
That day the melody didn’t just pacify the voices in my mind, but also cleared the mist of misleading excuses.
So, can I spare time for my passion now?
Indeed, it was a melody from the heaven.
