The scent of young tulsi leaves, the damp mud its rooted in, mixed with that of a flower plant and of another tulsi plant, blew in that cold, naive morning breeze. If I ignore my accounts text book, by M.N. Arora and look out into the window, I would see sun rising up like a baby standing up for its first walk or a god-son growing up to be a tyrant. Well, not until noon, it won’t.
Those small colorful birds singing their songs, smarting the stillness out of dawn, turning smog and loneliness brought to world by the passing night into colorful, joyish hour. As the orange sun light changing into yellowish white, the shadows losing their length by every moment. I would be lost in the grey sky wondering what the birds were singing of.
Say trait I am known for or my want to rest in luxury of laziness, I don’t care now if I paid to listen those birds with my time, it was only an excuse to avoid reading the book. Through their cage, in a room outside my house, they kept singing. Maybe they were taunting sun that world doesn’t need him to be cheerful, forgetful or unaware that he is needed for more.
Or perhaps they are waking up sun, but science tells different, its rotation of our planet due to which day and night happen. Then what are they singing?
Maybe they are arguing among themselves over their colors, maybe the blue bird wants its feathers to be green and the green bird wants yellow feathers. So the blue green and yellow birds argued? They wouldn’t have politics to discuss. Maybe they are teasing the black and white pigeons who live in the room too. Then I look up into the window.
I saw sun was higher, the sky had turned bluish and I realized I wasted time thinking over sounds of the birds instead of learning cost units in cost accountancy. I look over my shoulder at a clock hung on the wall and its five minutes to 8 AM, I lost forty minutes to be precise.
A plane flew over up in sky, its turbulence noise filled the ambience leaving no room for their songs, then some cars drove on a road behind the building, the air, sky, everything around isn’t innocent anymore. Its now corrupted and untold schemes hid beneath everything I saw. I had a scheme for my day too. I stopped looking at the sky, listening to the birds and feeling lazy.
I got over and rushed my day after a failed agenda. But I can still hear them sing, their sounds, though not a language in my syllabus, I can understand. I understand they don’t care if I was listening to them for forty minutes, time will not wait for anyone and discharge its duties impartially, nary a compulsion in laze and one is awarded basing on how one spends it.