Cry

She was riding her bike at a normal speed and was plugged in listening to a favourite song when suddenly out of nowhere the tears came streaming down. She didn't comprehend why at first but she did know they were due. She cried the whole way through. For some weird reason her vision didn't blur though she rode at the same pace, the songs still playing, the tears still flowing.

She could feel the tears flow down her cheeks which were hidden behind the soft cloth that covered her nose and mouth. She cried like every despair in the world had consumed her and yet she had no thought in her mind. It was blank, empty.

And then just as suddenly as they came streaming down, they stopped. She took a deep breath of the wind blowing against her face. A sense of deep calm took over. She took in her surrounding, one she hadn't been aware of till then. The bike had ridden on it's own taking her where it knew she wanted to go.

She began to wonder why the tears came but she already knew. She had bottled up for days now and she knew that had it continued she would perhaps have lost her mind to it. It wasn't easy pretending to be strong when all hope had been crushed and all plans had been washed. Wasn't easy to act normal when the core of her strength had let her down.

She had put away the thoughts assuming it was selfish and weak and yet now she knew she had to accept it. Weak or not it wasn't her fault and yet there she was suffering someone else's doing.

But now with the sudden calm and clear mind she touched the faith inside her that reminded her that whatever happened was for the good. She still had much to learn and now the time had presented itself. Just for her. She wouldn't whine in it, she would use it constructively and wait for the time that it was meant to happen. The right time..

She trusted her destiny with her heart and soul. It had never let her down. And it never would, she thought as she wiped away the reminiscence of tears on her face, parked her bike and climbed the stairs to her one and only solace...

No expectation.. No failure...

I didn't know what those bright little eyes said when they twinkled but I did understand when he said, “No! You're doing it wrong. Wait I'll show you. Give it to me.”

Now, I have been told I am wrong by so many I might not have let this one go, but the innocence in the eyes and tone, the lack of ego to correct me or pride to show he's right, melted my heart. All he wanted to really show me was how to do it right. Coz I was doing it wrong. Simple.

Where do you find that these days? Right where I found it, in a little kid.

He's about 4, not even in school yet. But really bright and oh so hyper active it drains a full grown adult! Presently he was teaching me how to make a broom from long strands of grass and a long bamboo stick. In all honesty I wasn't sure he got it right either, but never being quite the craftsman myself I thought, what the heck?

“So tell me what should I do?” I asked him.

“Wait” he said with a touch of impatience at my incompetency and his unsuccessful attempts to push grass strands into the bamboo stick.

The stick wasn't entirely hollow and the hole didn't go too deep. I knew the grass strands wouldn’t go too far in, but who was I to tell? The fervent kid who wouldn't take no for an answer? Nope. I wasn't ready to spoil his excitement and hope, to make this piece of art work. Besides who was I to say it wouldn't work?

And time proved that keeping my negative conclusion to myself was the best idea...

45 minutes I watched the kid. Helping him like an assistant would, in getting grass strands, sharp stones, another long bamboo if I could find one and the little thing kept at it.

The strong cold, evening winds of the Mussouri hills blew at my face and his. It managed to get into my clothes and freeze me, but not the kid. He seemed unaware. His jacket wasn't even buttoned up. He was too busy.

Abhi had a long name but responded to this nickname. He was the son of the local school teacher. I watched him push the grass strands in further and further with all the strength he had, and the help of some stones. And voila, by the end we did have a home made or rather grass made broom. And quite a pretty one at that. Made by a 4 year old.

I wondered what made me give up so soon? Was it because I was older, supposedly mature, more knowledgeable or was it simply because as we grow up we become more sceptic? Nothing is ever worth our 'waste of time'?

But what about Abhi? Was it pure innocence that kept him going? Coz he knew no failure?

Abhi and I took the newly made broom up to his home, somehow he did know he had to be careful with it. He showed it excitedly to his mother who smiled, an aunt who grunted and a father who told him to wash his dirty hands. But none reduced his gusto. He broomed around his mother's feet, his aunt's and his father's and in the end they all smiled. He won them over.

But within minutes of using this tricky broom the grass strands came off and what was remaining was just the stick. But Abhi laughed. He ran to me and said, “Didi you keep the stick we will make the broom again tomorrow. Now let's go and have some tea..”

I took the stick. He had forgotten about it before night fall that very day. He got occupied with something else. But I didn't.

I grinned down at the little kid who held my hand and tugged me towards the mess for tea. His soft, little hand showing me the way.

What kept him going and what stops us? Why does he remain happy, while we whine all the time?

I thought to myself that if you really want to learn, even a 4 year old can teach you the very essence of life.

No expectation, no failure, Just enthusiasm... unconditional enthusiasm to life, every part of Life...