Observation
Observation is a unique act of looking at God’s creation. Our surrounding is stuffed with a variety of things. Sometimes few things present in our surrounding amaze us. We get awestruck about the fact of their presence, creation, look etc. No matter how simple or ordinary those things may seem, they are the power houses of uniqueness in the sense that nothing can replace another thing. From observation comes motivation. For example, this piece of article has been influenced by certain observations made by me. Morning hour motivation comes to me through observing the components of nature. The nature has got vivid imageries and when you start to spend time with nature, you’ll certainly get mesmerized by the way things have been put in their places. It feels great in the act of chasing those white doves, with the stealth footsteps, which seem to have descended down from heaven to quench their parched throat from a limited reservoir leaked from the water tank over the terrace. Now I realize why those birds have been tagged as the symbol of peace and serenity. It’s even their slight glimpse that brings peace. They are the vehicles of the air; flying high to touch the limitless sky. Then a flock of birds in the sky draws my attention. On close observation, that flock seems to have led by a bird-might be more experienced in comparison to the other in the group.
Observation is a unique act of looking at God’s creation. Our surrounding is stuffed with a variety of things. Sometimes few things present in our surrounding amaze us. We get awestruck about the fact of their presence, creation, look etc. No matter how simple or ordinary those things may seem, they are the power houses of uniqueness in the sense that nothing can replace another thing. From observation comes motivation. For example, this piece of article has been influenced by certain observations made by me. Morning hour motivation comes to me through observing the components of nature. The nature has got vivid imageries and when you start to spend time with nature, you’ll certainly get mesmerized by the way things have been put in their places. It feels great in the act of chasing those white doves, with the stealth footsteps, which seem to have descended down from heaven to quench their parched throat from a limited reservoir leaked from the water tank over the terrace. Now I realize why those birds have been tagged as the symbol of peace and serenity. It’s even their slight glimpse that brings peace. They are the vehicles of the air; flying high to touch the limitless sky. Then a flock of birds in the sky draws my attention. On close observation, that flock seems to have led by a bird-might be more experienced in comparison to the other in the group.
The
sunset view is breathtaking. The fierce hot burning yellow colored cosmic body,
Sun turns orange, pink then gets absorbed amidst the vast stretch of clouds.
The clouds, fundamentally, the agglomeration of numerous tiny water droplets,
bear the shades of a color pallet at different instances. On closely observing,
I find a resemblance of those yellow and peach colored clouds with those of the
cream over an ice cream cone. The sky radiates the colors of a painter’s brush
or I’m watching a creation of the greatest painter, the almighty, I just can’t
differentiate. The commotion on the other side of the boundary of the hostel
drags me close to the boundary of the terrace. When my foot takes me there to
have a glance, I find a bunch of toddlers playing with clay- in the lap of
nature. Neither the darkness of the surrounding nor the responsibilities of the
life scare them off. They are like free birds flying carelessly with the
passage of time. The cool blowing breeze makes me light and I let myself get
blown with watching the activities of those notorious kids. It makes me
realized how quickly my childhood days have passed. The floating of cotton with
the breeze in the atmosphere creates the scene picturesque. It seems as if
there is a unique combination of summer and winter as the spread of cotton in
ground resembles snow.
The
darkness of the sky is now accompanied by a silver colored celestial body
shining prominently with other numerous tiny stars. On observing the moon closely,
I find many unidentified scars over it which reminds me of a tale that my
grandma used to narrate in my childhood days. The gist is- Once a hare visited
moon and it got lost there. That’s why the shape of that lost hare is still
visible. There was no congruency of that tale with the reality but we as
children were fascinated by it. As the night grows thick, the flickering
radiance from the other side of the river resembles little candles spreading
the light amidst the ever growing darkness. A thick layer of grey colored fume
ejected out from the chimneys of the industries diffuse in the tar colored
background in the backdrop of many colored lights of the structures turning on
and off synchronously. Now, the tall structure of the transmission tower stands
still in front of my eyes. I recognize it to be of suspension type with few
discs hanging down. I wonder how it is different from the famous Eiffeil tower.
I mean, that ordinary tower can be analogous to the famous Eiffeil tower. The
road, in the other side of the view, seems to be invisible but the tiny moving
vehicles. Their positions can be traced by the light emanating from them which
looks like a video game being played in front of me and yes I’m the spectator.
My vision can chase few moving lights performing rectilinear motion and then
disappearing. Sometimes, it seems as if a competition is going on when a
vehicle overtakes another. Everything seems magical and the air takes me to a
completely different realm of imagination.
Everything
around has got so much to give. It seems as if the inanimate things want to
convey us a message of eternity and peace. What is required is to lend an ear
to their unspoken or a keen observation.
15.04.2014
Swati Sarangi
This has been published in December issue of writer's ezine. From the Archives of writer's ezine
This has been published in December issue of writer's ezine. From the Archives of writer's ezine