A pace of life is really (usually we name it "time") a mystery. The day when you can hear even the noise of your ceiling fan, its going slow. The day when you can not hear even noise of your loved one, its going fast. There is hell lot of literature on going in the past is crime but than am I human?
There are nets and nets of time in the mind. One net connect to other and start a new. You are there very center of the net but can not move. You know you are the dinner of the past time spider but can not move. Who does want to move? You love to be eaten by time.
You might be knowing spirituality, psychology, science, meditation or any other damn technique to live up with the time. When time comes sad, you can not do anything, your eyes will say it. When time comes good, you can not do anything either, your eyes will sing it. Let me share with you an experience. When I was travelling from Vijaywada to Vizaq two days before by train, there were bunch of beggars passing by. Someone was bagging in name of the god, someone was singing a Tamil song, someone was bagging for his age and illness. Someone was creative in all of them was a 12 or14 years young boy.
He was bagging for peoples not for me. He has two chalks with him - a white and yellow color. He was painting in the corridor of boogie. He painted SHIVA, painted LAXMI in few seconds and asked for money to passengers. He was happy with 1 rupee coin or 10 rupee note whatever given by them. There was no plea in his eyes. He was feeling like working in his own way and not bagging. Somehow I love poor and struggler. They carry their self respect and don't like to exchange it against money.
He did not forget to clean the train by his rubber which was applauded silently by my eyes. I liked his skills and don't know why? Is it because was he a real painter or I used to paint in my childhood as well? I wondered how could he be managing his passage of time? time of life? Has he ever felt boredom?
Before my ever thinking mind stops, he left the boogie with all not describable pride.
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