Stargazing4 mins 152 4 mins 152
I like to play a game with myself. It’s a staring game. I stare and stare until my eyes hurt, until I can make out the most extraordinary things from the most ordinary ones. There’s another thing I like. I love running up the hills and going to the highest summit. It helps in my staring game. I can see almost everything from up there. Before me lies the entire valley, enveloped in the soft evening mist, above me stretches the great - glorious sky, constantly changing colours and beside me stands the clear, little pool reflecting everything that comes it's way. I have tried painting the sky but the pool always does a better job than me.
I sit on the soft green grass, crossed legged and stare at the twilight-lit sky. The twilight makes everything so beautiful. It mixes with the transparent mist and gives it an enchanting bluish-yellow colour. It mixes with the white wagon steam, running far down in the valley like a never-ending snake, giving it a pinkish hue. It reflects on the pool to form a tender rainbow. It rests on my dark flyaway hair and makes it look reddish-brown. There’s a bunch of flamingos standing by the pool, dipping their long beaks into the water, trying to find food. They are pink and red, orange and white. I often wonder how can there be so many variations among the birds which look so much alike. I have always been taught that twilight is the transition between day and night. But years of staring has taught me something else. There’s a transition between twilight and night time too and that’s when the sky looks prettiest. You can see the night approaching but the twilight hasn’t gone yet. One part of the sky Is deep blue, jewelled with twinkling stars and the next part is a soft orange, like the flamingos’ feathers. I look down at the pool and as usual, it has done an amazing job again. I envy the pool. Hours of futile attempt to capture the sky on my canvas and the pool does it in seconds- flawless with every small detail. I throw a stone at the pool, trying to spoil its work. The flamingos fly, their wings stretched out and after a while they look like petals of flowers flying in the sky. The pool emerges with a more beautiful presentation, reflecting the sky in each ebbing ripple. I sigh and look up at the sky again. Now it’s mostly stars. I lay down on my back and gaze into the enormous, enchanting mystery above. The stars form so many patterns. There are a lot more constellations than the ones we know. If you focus and focus on the stars, they seem to get bigger and suddenly they are big enough. It’s like watching hundreds of floating lanterns gleam as they get closer to you and then again move farther away. There’s a bunch of fireflies moving out of the grass and soaring towards the sky. What if they go too high? Do they meet the stars then? Or do they become the stars? Maybe the sky has a different gravity all together which captures any firefly that escapes the earth. I want to be a firefly and meet the stars, to reach the sky I am always in awe of. Or maybe I can be a flamingo, soaring high, my orange wings almost fading in the orange clouds. Why not a grasshopper? I can be a grasshopper, finding nectar even in the oldest of grasses, walking on the pool water slowly without disturbing it. But maybe then I wouldn’t have these human eyes which always get dazzled by all sorts of beautiful things. Fireflies mean that it’s dark enough. Now that there are a lot of them, I take one last look at the painter -pool before getting up.
I step away from the canvas as the doorbell rings. The daily hubbub of city life returns. I can hear the car horns blaring even from the thirtieth floor. Oh, what a noisy city this is. I glance at the painting as I wash the colours off my hands in the sink. I smile. Pool, maybe I can beat you this time. I’ll come, add a few pine trees on the sides once I’m done with my visitor.