Reminiscence.

The coarse sand rubs against the soles of my Bata shoes. Distant chants of the Indian Music classes make my ears tingle. I turn around, and a hoard of little children, hands on the shoulders of the one in front- run about from one place to another. A floor above, the bell itches to chime- announcing a break. Stacks of food arrive on a cart to fill up the canteen's coffers. It is going to be a very busy half an hour for them. The clouds have come out in plenty today, announcing a surfeit of respite from the already muted December heat. A gentle moist breeze blows across the little ground- sandwiched in between a concrete jungle. The banners advertising the music season sway in unison- enhancing the effect of an otherwise harmless windy day. Muffled noises of the heavy mid-day traffic outside the school offer a perennial background score to an already noisy scene. Rows of classes piled like matchsticks upon one another, bursting with activity and the exuberance of youth- offer a beautiful sight. Closing my eyes, I can imagine every little action from the sounds accompanying them. Maybe is this what it feels like to be blind? If it were, I would still be happy because the scene I recreate from the things I hear, is probably more beautiful than the actual happenings itself. Wonderful, I say. God gifts everyone with something. Even the "oft-sympathized with" blind have something to feel happy about. Magical, the art of creation.

My eyes open- the lights of my cubicle come back into full effect. The song playing in my headphones seems to have ended- anyways, I do not even remember which song I was hearing to. But the moment, I realise, has transported me back ten years into my life. Everything was so beautiful then, I ask? Yes it was. Right now, it is more of a worry, nevertheless I still find an innate beauty to it. Now, I understand- even a lonely cubicle has something to offer- insight.

This Valentine's day, love the life you lived, are living and will live. You deserve to.