A cat, a bowl of soup and a beach towel

The sun’s light hits the veranda and through the windows enters the living area. There it sits for some time as the apples in the basket on the tables reflect the golden light. The room that gets bathed in pure sunlight during the day time takes a soft gleam at this hour. The television set would bounce back the harsh sunlight but right now it seems to be enjoying it. The other objects in the room like the sofa set (which is in the centre of the room), the centre table (which is placed right in front of the sofa), a book rack (which has at least twenty books in it), a corner table (which is triangle in shape and is placed right behind the door), a magazine (which is lying on the chair next to another table which is as high as a dining table but as small as the corner table; on this table is a basket of red and green apples) and a pair of glasses on top of the television set. They all take a soft outline as the sun is setting outside.

Looking for my glasses I reach towards the window and see the beautiful sun set. It is so peaceful except for the melody being played from one of the songs from the beach boys and the waves on the shore. The song from the beach boys echoes in the entire house and I want to dance. I see a car coming towards the house and move out. The rocking chair is swaying gently with the breeze, so it seems, but as I approach near I see my cat rocking on it. Kitty (the sweet, white and beautiful cat) jumps out of the chair as it sees me. I pick her up and sit on the chair. Nicely swaying and rocking on it I now see the car has stopped at my neighbor’s house. I see some children playing in the beach. A family is walking away from the beach. The mother is carrying a basket in her hand and the father has the daughter on his shoulders. The boy with one hand holds his mother’s hand and in the other hand is a beach towel. It seems he doesn’t want to come away from the beach because he is dragging the blue and white stripped beach towel.

The song has stopped playing and so I get up from my chair, start walking inside and it is now that I smell my chicken soup. I had completely forgotten about this and so I run hastily towards the kitchen. I grab a kitchen towel take off the lid; stir the chicken soup with a ladle. It looks delicious and smells aromatic due to the added herbs and spices. Tempted by it I rush to take a bowl and pour it gently in it. With the soup bowl in my hand and a spoon in it I walk towards the sofa; I sit on it and switch on the T.V. I start slurping the hot chicken soup as I watch T.V.


Art is where the heart is


I found myself gazing at a wooden frame which was at a display and had amazed the art lovers. It was not a work of some world famous artist; however, the novice artist had managed to gather some appreciation for his work, locally. The artist had played very well with the colours and made the canvas come alive.

The colours were playing in the garden of canvas as the children would play in the school play ground; each with a unique character of its own breathing the life in the wooden piece of canvas. Like others I found myself staring in admiration at this beauty. And as awestruck I was I just uttered, “What a piece of art”.

So, what is art?

Is it a mere canvas on a wall or only the work which is respected and paid in hefty amounts?

And, who is an artist?

Well, I simply believe that anyone and everyone have an artist at work within themselves.

Art doesn’t have a specific address. It can be born anywhere: on the streets, at shops, at homes just anywhere. I also believe that an artist can be born when true dedication burns in one’s heart.

A mother is a dedicated artist; she is the only one to take care of her children without wanting anything in return. Since the day she becomes aware of the fact that a life is being nurtured in her, she becomes an artist. Every day she might paint a picture of how her child might be. She gives an identity to her child by not only naming her but from now on she would dedicate her life in the upbringing of this child; the child who is her creation.


A confectioner is really patient and passionate about the sweet delicacies that he makes. Ask me, how?

In the greased canvassed tin he would gently lay the sweet children of cookies. After years of perfection (or maybe he would still be new to the business) he would inspect each cookie, and then he would decorate it with rubied cherries. Finally giving them a gentle brush with egg glaze, which would give them the perfect smile for the baking photo shoot. At last when they march out, he would gently powder them with a little flour dust. Thus ultimately he has created an art.

I can see art and artists everywhere; the only thing is sometimes we are aware and the other times we are just oblivious of the fact that we are creating an art.

The truth is, everyone is creating an art form: from a simple gardener to a cook; from a school teacher to a copywriter; from a sculptor to an architect all are busy creating art.

If you ask me, “what is common between these renowned artists and disguised artists as common people?”

To me “the passionate heart” sounds as the only answer. A true artist would never worry about the returns (monetary or non-monetary). He/she would just create from the core of his/her heart. Driven by crazy ideas from the mind but fuelled by passion and dedication from his/her heart.

Hence, I believe that art can be found anywhere and everywhere. All the things that we see reflect some form of art;as a creator would have created it with a true dedicated heart.

Shoes without socks



I just love to wear shoes without socks. It doesn’t bother me much how it appears but I feel good. I remember I’d always wanted to do it since I was a child, but someone kept me from doing so. You might ask who?

“Where do you think you’re going, without wearing socks? You need to wear socks with your shoes.” These were the words that mother used to shoot at me, if she saw me going out in shoes without a pair of socks.

Back then, as a child I was far behind the understanding of mannerism; so mostly I did what I was asked to do. Secondly, I was of course intimidated by my mother (not that she was scary, but she knew how to play a good mother and a bad mother, depending on the time). And thirdly, the idea of punishment did not seem exciting.

But now, the child that I’m has become a free fighter and a risk taker. Out of the many things that I wanted to do my way, this was certainly on my list.

As I go through my footwear: slippers, boots, sandals and shoes and decide what to wear or what not wear. I’m asked to think,” what pleasure does Mr. Shoes have for getting the company of Ms Socks? And why are others deprived of the comfort and cozy friendship of Ms Socks?”

Well! I have no idea but they certainly get the best pair award. And who could argue, they have been sitting in our wardrobes, like Harry met Sally that we dare not mess with the pair. I think to match socks with any other than shoes might be a question of simple appearance or I don’t bother attitude or may be some weather condition. Most of the people would like to go with the first (because appearance does count). However, I would go with the second (some lost flocks would go with this one also).

I simply like to slip my feet into the shoes and go out on a wander trail with my shoes, leaving behind the pair of socks all by themselves at home. I think it saves my time and the burden of sitting and pulling up my socks (as in literally and in great effort). It can be another way of saying that I’m a free spirited person. Or, allowing my brain cells to rest without being bothered while doing something that I’d always wanted to do my way.

A few days back I went on a stroll with my usual companion, and on the way I met Ms. Looks. She is someone who likes to do the things simply, because they are meant to be done that way. Apart from that she is just my park buddy (we walk together nothing more nothing less). She greeted me with a smile. All of a sudden, I could see my mother staring through her eyes, as she rolled her eyes looking, from my face to my feet and back to my face. At that moment we exchanged looks and speeding thoughts. Right at that moment, my face with a gentle smile and innocent eyes gave a look that said,”hey! I don’t care”.

I didn’t know that it could be so difficult a thing to do such a small thing your way. But when I did, what I did, I could sense a little bird in me that flew free for a while. I’m still half way through on the list of things I want to do my way.