Murmuration

Daivik was excited about the birthday invitation from his friend Simon. It was a fine summer day, with clear blue skies and happy chirping birds. The park was about the size of a large cricket ground with trees surrounding the periphery and a few scattered around in the middle. It was still early in the day and the park was yet to be invaded by the bare-chested, beer loving, sun worshipers. Which meant the kids, about ten of them, had the whole park to themselves. It was supposed to be a 'football' party.  There were two footballs. But there was also : one cartwheel and one large garbage can with wheels, far more interesting than a little ball with no wheels.  So the footballs were abandoned even before the first kick as the kids flocked the cart wheel : some went in, some stood on the sides and some decided to push it. They went up a little slope and then let the thing go. It was scary for us, the parents, to watch it from a distance, but the sounds coming from that direction  were cries of joy, a.k.a war cries. Me, me, let me in, you push, next time I push, no not that way, yeaaaahhhhh....At this point, one of them discovered the large garbage can. They managed to roll it to the middle of the park. Ah, what fun a graffiti laden trash can hold ! It is beyond the powers of imagination of the adult brain...

Daivik, watching me watching him, came running over to excitedly report what I was seeing. Soon he got more interested in reporting  the events that were happening rather than participating in them. I thought my presence there was getting counter productive and silently retired to a quiet corner of the park and started reading. But the sounds carried and I could watch them from a distance. The cart wheel and the garbage can were soon abandoned and they started running around  all over the park, still in a group. From my spot  I could hear the distinct ebbing and fading of their buzz. It was like a swarm of bees in tandem flight. There was no intent or purpose. There was no search for meaning. There was, if any thing at all, that single moment. That moment of joy, of fun, of laughter, of being.

Quite suddenly, they were right next to the tree where I was leaning on. It was a beautiful tree, with a wide trunk and very low leafy branches. Daivik 'discovered' me and came running over. He sat next to me for two seconds, sharing the joy of the moment and transmitting it to me and started running back to his friends. It is interesting to watch him run, with his distinctive way of bending his elbows and placing his hands . He suddenly slowed as the low branches brushed  against his face. He raised his hands and without stopping grabbed a few leaves, came running back to me, deposited them in my hands saying, 'Appa, here is a gift for you', and before I could respond, ran back to join the swarm.

Thank you Daivik, for the wonderful gift. 

Pradeep

We were visiting an acquaintance  who heads a school for children near our place in Coimbatore. Most of the kids are from the surrounding villages.  As we were coming out of our meeting, we saw lot of kids playing in the ground. One particular kid was standing behind a tree, half-hidden, and watching us leave the building. Daivik was dressed in a bright blue superman T-shirt. Perhaps this attracted the kid, perhaps not. As we approached the tree, he ran forward, thrust something into Daivik's hands and ran back. Daivik held it out to me. It was a toy car (with two of the wheels broken). I turned around to look at the kid, who was standing shyly behind the tree. He was about Daivik's height and build, bare-footed, all the buttons of the shirt open and ample evidence of carefree hours spent playing in the dust. Most impressively, he was sporting a wide grin, showing all his teeth, large and impossibly white. And the sparkle in those eyes ! It can be so luminous only on somebody  unencumbered  - yet - to the vagaries of life. Or reached its beyonds.  I called him forward, he hesitated. I told Daivik to go introduce himself and thank him for the gift. Daivik, generally hesitant with strangers, ran forward, shook his hands and said "I'm Daivik". The kid said "I'm Pradeep". I frantically scouted my pockets for something to miraculously materialize, a chocolate, a toy, anything...my fingers touched the wallet and I froze. The wads of currency was so totally meaningless in front of the child's smile and his random act of kindness.

It was getting late. We waved good-byes and left. I looked back as we turned the corner, Pradeep was still standing there, waving back to us cheerfully. Pradeep, your smile and sparkling eyes have been a blessing. I do not know why you chose to give your gift to Daivik, but I know that the cheerfulness of your smile and sparkle of your eyes will fade from our memories with time. I do hope these few words capture - and retain - a bit of that luster.  

acknowledgement

Daivik took a bubble blower with him to the kindergarten. It was about 30 cm long and filled with soap water. To use it one has to remove the handle that is dipped in the soap solution and either blow into it wave it around. Large bubbles slowly emerge and follow the contours of the motion for a while before taking their own course.

Daivik was pretty excited about it and was showing it eagerly to Frank, who happened to be the first person he met, and started giving an animated description of its intricate mechanisms. Frank was beginning to get interested in it and was on the point of embarking on a deeper inspection. Quite suddenly, Daivik, catching another friend approaching,  snatched it from Frank and ran to the new friend and started describing the details again.

What Daivik did was - by adult conventions - a rather rude thing. Now, imagine if you are Frank, observing and getting interested in an object - something, anything - and it is abruptly, forcibly snatched away.  Frank didn't twitch his face, his smile did not vanish. He simply turned around, and in the space of that simple movement found another thing to transfer his interest to. Daivik's grin remained intact throughout this show-snatch-show again procedure.

It took less time to happen than a single heart beat of either Frank or Daivik. Perhaps it is nothing much to write about, but it did keep me rooted in thoughts for a long time afterward. I think what struck me most was the sheer nonchalance of it, a sense of non-happening. In the snatching away act, no offense was meant and certainly none taken. A simple act was performed, it is over, and therefore doesn't exist anymore. In that singularly beautiful act of not acknowledging it, Frank liberated the moment from its potential weights. The weights of, say, an unreturned call or an unsent email. In the process, he easily, effortlessly extricated himself - and Daivik - from its tyrrany.

Hold on to it kids, hold on !

Friendship

When I entered the kindergarten to pick up Daivik, I was greeted by the following sight : Josephine was engrossed with wooden building blocks and Kuby was watching her work intently. Daivik, with a long face, was standing at a distance and looking at them. 
As soon as he saw me, his eyes welled up and he said ‘appa, Kuby is not my friends anymore’. I looked at Kuby, who confirmed the fact, adding for good measure ‘he will never be my friends again’. This broke the dam and Daivik burst into tears, somehow managing to tell me amidst sobs, ‘see, I told you’. Josephine, not to be outdone, started rattling the names of all her friends, not including Daivik, bringing about a fresh wave of tears. I turned to Kuby and asked, ‘why is Daivik not your friend’. Kuby reported that Daivik destroyed the wooden house Josephine was building. By the time I turned back to Daivik, he was ready with an answer. ‘It was an accident’, he said, adding rather paradoxically, ‘it will not happen again’. ‘Can you say that to Kuby?’, I asked. So Daivik went to Kuby and repeated it, stressing the will-not-happen-again part. Kuby started smiling and they held hands for a moment. Josephine, watching the show, started the names again, this time including Daivik. And, just like that, everybody were smiling, everybody friends again. Daivik included me in this joy. “Appa, see”, he said, this time amidst peals of laughter “we are friends again”.

How simple !