Two hours a week.
What does that emphasize in your opinion? Two hours a week of what? If you have a humorously dirty mind, your mind might wander off to, well, you know what. If you're an amazingly over-romantic person, your mind might develop images of meeting a certain person two hours a week. If you're something other than the above two, you're probably wanting to stop reading the post since I didn't articulate much on your categorization. But, hold on.
Those two hours in a week. They add a new dimension to my personality, to my happiness, to my never-ending rants about the little beautiful moments and in turn, to my life. At times, you have a brilliant idea that sprang up your mind when you were supposedly staring at the wall and all you have to do, is go for it! But viola! Life won't let you escape that quick, without a series of if(s) and but(s), followed by some hurtful self-questioning, accompanied by overly negative views from fellow, homo sapiens and a plethora of hindrances.
After processing through the following, and finally making up my mind, since that was the only escape, I embraced what lay in my mind. And? The result? What do you think happened? Too many questions, is it? Just creating an atmosphere of mammoth consequence, my darling.
I was amazed at what I found. Sometimes, wait, I have no clue why the word 'sometimes' pops in from nowhere when one needs to describe a beautiful incident, however, let's get back. Sometimes, or must I say, more often than not, what we admire and crave for, is way beautiful than what we imagined or assumed it to be. Maybe that is why it is worth all the series of if(s) and but(s), followed by some hurtful self-questioning, accompanied by overly negative views from fellow, homo sapiens and a plethora of hindrances. It's worth it. Sure shot worth it. If it were easier, it would lose it's preciousness. Like a 5 year old who loses interest in his toys in no time since he possess them easily, just a cry away. But a different 5 year old who has only witnessed kids of his age playing with those toys, to him, even a give-away is as precious as the mid-summer rains.
I could interact with homo sapiens of all age-groups. I could laugh at something as silly as a broken teeth with a fourth grader to discuss about how the majority of the population merely survives rather than living their life with someone twice my age or simply listen to the eldest person in the room talk about the changing times with a reminiscence of nostalgia in her eyes as she shifted from one topic to another.
I could notice how the little kid wants to grow up so quick and do the chores that elders do, how he would join in a conversation completely off his level of debate and pour in some amazing catchy-dialogues, probably from a movie he last watched. Likewise, how the beautiful middle-aged woman stole a candy from a little boy and tease him about the same, how a little girl she had turned into in seconds with a heart warming smile.
It's just a matter of seconds before strangers turn into people one absolutely admires.
One smile. One kind gesture. One genuine compliment.
That's all that separates the transition between a stranger to a friend.
Accompanied by some brilliant music. This music was a different kind of music. Not the final, near-perfect music, but the learning-off beat-screeching like a dying cat-kind of music. And no, it wasn't noise. It was music. It is music. People finding their way from the dying cat kind of music to the harmonious kind of music. Improvising, trying, failing, trying again, grabbing some inspiration from the person who could now produce harmonious music, originating from the dying cat kind of music.
Those two beautiful hours a week.
Those two beautiful hours of Violin class. :)
© Deekshita Srinivas. 2nd June, 2015.
What does that emphasize in your opinion? Two hours a week of what? If you have a humorously dirty mind, your mind might wander off to, well, you know what. If you're an amazingly over-romantic person, your mind might develop images of meeting a certain person two hours a week. If you're something other than the above two, you're probably wanting to stop reading the post since I didn't articulate much on your categorization. But, hold on.
Those two hours in a week. They add a new dimension to my personality, to my happiness, to my never-ending rants about the little beautiful moments and in turn, to my life. At times, you have a brilliant idea that sprang up your mind when you were supposedly staring at the wall and all you have to do, is go for it! But viola! Life won't let you escape that quick, without a series of if(s) and but(s), followed by some hurtful self-questioning, accompanied by overly negative views from fellow, homo sapiens and a plethora of hindrances.
After processing through the following, and finally making up my mind, since that was the only escape, I embraced what lay in my mind. And? The result? What do you think happened? Too many questions, is it? Just creating an atmosphere of mammoth consequence, my darling.
I was amazed at what I found. Sometimes, wait, I have no clue why the word 'sometimes' pops in from nowhere when one needs to describe a beautiful incident, however, let's get back. Sometimes, or must I say, more often than not, what we admire and crave for, is way beautiful than what we imagined or assumed it to be. Maybe that is why it is worth all the series of if(s) and but(s), followed by some hurtful self-questioning, accompanied by overly negative views from fellow, homo sapiens and a plethora of hindrances. It's worth it. Sure shot worth it. If it were easier, it would lose it's preciousness. Like a 5 year old who loses interest in his toys in no time since he possess them easily, just a cry away. But a different 5 year old who has only witnessed kids of his age playing with those toys, to him, even a give-away is as precious as the mid-summer rains.
I could interact with homo sapiens of all age-groups. I could laugh at something as silly as a broken teeth with a fourth grader to discuss about how the majority of the population merely survives rather than living their life with someone twice my age or simply listen to the eldest person in the room talk about the changing times with a reminiscence of nostalgia in her eyes as she shifted from one topic to another.
I could notice how the little kid wants to grow up so quick and do the chores that elders do, how he would join in a conversation completely off his level of debate and pour in some amazing catchy-dialogues, probably from a movie he last watched. Likewise, how the beautiful middle-aged woman stole a candy from a little boy and tease him about the same, how a little girl she had turned into in seconds with a heart warming smile.
It's just a matter of seconds before strangers turn into people one absolutely admires.
One smile. One kind gesture. One genuine compliment.
That's all that separates the transition between a stranger to a friend.
Accompanied by some brilliant music. This music was a different kind of music. Not the final, near-perfect music, but the learning-off beat-screeching like a dying cat-kind of music. And no, it wasn't noise. It was music. It is music. People finding their way from the dying cat kind of music to the harmonious kind of music. Improvising, trying, failing, trying again, grabbing some inspiration from the person who could now produce harmonious music, originating from the dying cat kind of music.
Those two beautiful hours a week.
Those two beautiful hours of Violin class. :)
© Deekshita Srinivas. 2nd June, 2015.
Lovely post; beautifully written. :)
ReplyDeleteThank you so much. :)
Delete