Perspective
The weather in Pune now is soul-stirringly beautiful. Trees are green and pretty ferns are climbing every sort of rocky surface - interestingly, something so hard surrenders to something so fragile. The rain itself is another muse by itself - lovely, fresh, lilting. It falls like a mellow euphoric haze. Heck, even the water from taps flows almost bard-like.
It's a gorgeous, peaceful grey all around.
A little girl comes out skipping in the balcony below me. She sees a bird in a nearby tree - a majestic creature with deep purple and red plumes - shake off water from its feathers. The child starts singing something and hopping from one leg to another. The bird doesn't notice, though.
Suddenly, from inside, a voice calls out (I think it's her mother): "Do you want to see a rainbow? If the sun comes out, we'll see one."
A long purple feather with red tips has floated on to the beige tiles of the balcony. The girl stops skipping and picks it up. It's plush and luxurious and 'grown-up' in her small hands.
She turns to her mother, all the while fingering the feather gently. "I don't need the sun and I don't want the rainbow."
The things beauty makes us forsake.
It's a gorgeous, peaceful grey all around.
A little girl comes out skipping in the balcony below me. She sees a bird in a nearby tree - a majestic creature with deep purple and red plumes - shake off water from its feathers. The child starts singing something and hopping from one leg to another. The bird doesn't notice, though.
Suddenly, from inside, a voice calls out (I think it's her mother): "Do you want to see a rainbow? If the sun comes out, we'll see one."
A long purple feather with red tips has floated on to the beige tiles of the balcony. The girl stops skipping and picks it up. It's plush and luxurious and 'grown-up' in her small hands.
She turns to her mother, all the while fingering the feather gently. "I don't need the sun and I don't want the rainbow."
The things beauty makes us forsake.
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