The Artist in my neighborhood

                    Out of the window of my house, into the open, at dawn, a figure stands tall.  I’m staring at something that ‘d best be described as an illuminated passage, more like a subway. I ask myself, what could be at the end of this subway? My wild imagination screams that it’s the passage into the sun!! Imaginations can make you sound mad!  My mother calls out, asking me to come and have tea. My parents are just back from the yoga classes. It must be 8 by now.

                    It’s beautiful alright. Every time I wonder how much more beautiful it would be if only it were 6 right now. But then, I’d have to wake up at 6. Nonetheless, it propels me. My imagination might call it a passage, but it is actually a simple walkway surrounded by loads of trees. The morning winds mean a lot foliage strewn all over the concrete. It sort of gives a romantic feel to it. Every now and then, you will see people walking here, people from all age groups. Many of them  are walking in groups, and laughing a lot. They always seem to find something to laugh about. Then there are the ones who come alone,  jogging at a brisk pace. I’m close enough to be able to even hear what people are talking about.

                  I make a few feeble attempts to wake my brother up, and then give up. He’s too wide asleep to care. I can hear faint sounds of my parents talking over tea.  I must say, something about it makes me feel very good. Every now and then, a stream of pretty looking birds land on the path, always seeming to form a sketch of something with their ranks. And then, they start chirping, perhaps singing for the legendary artist who just walked by. And when they take off, they do so with zeal worth witnessing, like they were out to conquer the world, and I, held in conquest, just stand in awe. And then, I ask myself, who’s the artist that just walked by? Is it someone in the neighborhood? I don’t quite know all the people in my neighborhood. A few unlikely faces pop up in my mind, and I just can’t stop grinning.

                It’s been quite a while now, and I must go and sit with my parents for some time. My brother finally wakes up too!  Over tea, I tell them about a live art exhibition very close to our house, where laughing artists and birds performed, and also the possibility of a legendary artist living in our neighborhood.  And now that I think of it, I can distinctly remember guitar strings that seemed to vibrate in total sync with the spring in the birds’ stride when they took off, or even that of the laughing artists. Does someone in my neighborhood play guitar too? Overcome by curiosity, without offering any explanation, I immediately slip into a pair of jeans, and walk all the way down the stretch, only to realize that I’m indeed walking into the sun!!!