A wide stroke of blue deepening itself with time, drooling over the green pastures as they run along with the horizon. A child, innocent as the glazing pastures, hopes to reach what he sees. His new eyes wishes to meet the sky before night hauls up. He runs. Kicks the ground with all its force to reach the horizon.
‘I just want to touch it! Just a touch!!!”
But why has his face gone grey? Why he looks so concerned? His feet don’t slow down. But the sky, it is slowly closing itself. The night is growing upon the tall grasses. His feet haven’t slowed down yet.
Suddenly, the blue smudges over the remaining red. Thud! shouts the last stomp. And he finally stops.
This is not just a story. It’s a reality shared by millions of kids.
They run towards something they wish to have. Then, they just stop. Why?
It has been hours, mother stands at the porch, waiting. She is certain that her child ran away. She is seeing the horizons once again, searching where he ran off to this time. She probably knows where the child might be. But she is concerned about the path taken.
She has seen the world, the pastures, felt the tall grasses running along with her. She has felt the air swipe over her before, and knows all the thrills. But her age has made her concerned with the night barging in on him. Her thoughts are apprehended by all the evil intents lurking among the grasses. She prays for her son to return. She wishes her touch the sky, but also to be back soon. Her heart throbs and anxiety takes over, she grows restless with the thought of her loss. She wants her child back.
He’s all what she has to call a family.
The children dream higher, so does the parent. The child wants to beat the problem to the ground, so do their parent. But the one old enough, shares concerns for the dream. Their world hasn’t matured either. They too have their dreams.
They too want to punch a hole in Earth’s core, they too want to reach the highest summit of the world, from where they can shout – “I am the KING of the fuckin’ world.”
But they just can’t punch hard enough.
They just can’t will to walk that far away from their haven.
‘If I just could! If I just could will!’
But she can’t just leave behind her son. Because she knows that he cares. Every parent in the world, at some point of time, knows that they both willed and cared for each other. It appears that she has known that from the very beginning. She desperately waits.
Mother’s concern is reaching beyond the stages of anxiety. Before the panic could begin, the child returns home. With the same grave face. All wishes killed, all dreams buried.
The world throws out unnecessary bounds over unmarried people, over divorcees, over widowers, over people who feel objectively misplaced. Then the worlds ruins the subjective values contained in the societal surrounding and misplaces their moral and subjective obligations.
In short, the society makes it hell for them to live in.
Me and You are subjects of cause, it won’t be wrong to say that we have wronged somewhere in our pertaining empirical behavior. But in what way have we wronged their dreams? What role do we play in an unknown kid’s dream? What role do we play in a person’s life who just seems fine with his child?
If you are thinking that I share concerns with people, or I have sympathy for single parents, or kids. No, I don’t. I am weak enough to not care. I am weak enough to let it all pass without catching a glimpse of what’s happening around.
The parent, challenged emotionally with the loss of the better half. Also, economically very unstable. Yet, stays away and works to keep the child healthy. Suffering a loss of one’s closest love is not normal. It is intensely painful. It is not just about losing a person. It is about losing a promise to protect the other half. It is about losing a part of your soul. Losing a part of expressions, which lest be let out.
A child holding hands with his father. Looks at another woman. I think, she’s probably her mother. But she isn’t. She is attracted towards something she finds desirable for herself. So, she points her finger at the woman, making her father look. I can feel the uncomfortable shrug over his hand as he is forced to glance upon a stranger. The frail smile on his father’s aged face makes me wonder, why can’t his beam be stronger? Just to satisfy his child’s running heart.
Can we do anything to make the warmth inside of him, glow a bit brighter?
I don’t know.
The child, surrounded with choices and ways. The hands she holds, only nurture. But it doesn’t guide. Bounded by the nurturing arms, narrowed into a small box of oneness, where the hands let loose. But not really wills to let the child go away. She wills to move away from the father to make a choice that might put a questionable consequence before his father.
Surprisingly, the young one too shares the concern. He returns home to his mother. He’s late but he has returned. He had ran enough for a day. The young pure soul has no one else in the world to be with.
‘You came back?’
“Yeah! Running alone gets boring.’ He smiles.
His smile. A beat down face, but a lively smile. In a second! She forgets she had a problem with the world. She wears out her panic. Surprisingly, she grows over the fear of the worldly wraith.
The ghosts that world sets out for them, they won’t stop. But, she knows from heart that whatever comes. They will fight them off together.
I am speaking...
...to the tender warmth bolstering the frail smile, I urge you to rage up. Breathe into the fire, make the flames reach the sky. Shore up your arms and bolt down your legs, let the earth bolster your stance. And with a swing to the left, raise your right hand up and smash it on misery’s face.
‘Behold the greatest punch of all time. Jab Jab Jab. And a body shot, right to the core. Two fist land and the whole crowd cheers in unison. That’s a KNOCK OUT.’
I am speaking...
...to the green pastures - experience the sun running among you. As the mother runs along with her to the horizon. Fearless and strong as she once was, she runs with her son to touch different marks on the sky. And with a gallop, raise your hand up. Lie not, about how you grazed the blue paint off the god’s canvas.
The girl she once was, holding her father’s hand and being given a world to live in. She will keep up her faith and guard up, to aim for the day when she will be able to deliver the same to her own child.
Run as fast as you can. Outrun them all. Don’t try doing everything alone. You are a family, hurl your fist together. I believe you can endure, and if you got the chance you will definitely hit it out of the park. Yes, the opportunity just won’t come along. But if it came, I am sure you will make it an achievement.
The crowd who hooted, will still hoot. But it sure will be different.
Among the crowd where only sat crooked faces; there will be one more believer. Some will be waiting in the billing queue looking over your face for the strength that you will pass on. Some, waiting in the pasture to catch a glimpse of who is running by.
Every day you wake up, and every time you burn. There will be a believer growing among all of us. All of those who once pointed fingers at you will now.
So, don’t burn meekly like a cheap firework.
Explode boldly like a holy hand grenade.
Safety & Peace
- Nikhil Ranjan