Last night, I drifted into sleep as I was reading an article on Attention Deficient Hyper-activity Syndrome or ADHS, a condition characterized by activity without thoughts, thoughts without focus and an overpowering lack of concentration.
In the 21st century, a good number of children suffer from this condition, as do many adults. People afflicted with ADHS run around for what they know not and fritter away time in purposeless activities.
Perhaps our perpetual rush to nowhere is a reflection of our present lifestyle, where we no longer enjoy the wonders of a journey as our eyes are permanently fixed at the speedometer.
This morning, I got up early; darkness had just begun to lighten and the indistinct contours of the buildings-trees-antennas-water tanks were still a vague lump languidly preparing to assert their individual forms.
Crows hadn't begun to caw, the first tram hadn't started its metallic journey, the milk vendor's cycle was still chained and the newspaper boys were turning uneasily in their sleep, subliminally aware that good times would soon be over. The city slept peacefully under a transparent mist of silence.
The world looked sombre. Even my boisterous dog looked solemn as he lay at my feet wordlessly reminding me about the morning walk. I sat at my writing desk and watched the colours of darkness, which were no less eloquent than the colours of daylight. A passionate gust of wind caressed my face. In the same wind, faraway, a kite dived down with quaint grace beside a factory chimney. Its wings were distinct but dark; they were yet to catch the first burst of sunlight. Kites are faraway creatures, seldom are they seen in close quarters; they never deign to nest in your garden, nor do they ever grace your windowsills. Perhaps this goes to show that they have an intelligent mind. Those who shun the human race ought to be sensible beings. As someone said, existence of intelligent life elsewhere in the universe is proved by the fact that they don't try to contact us.
Kites don't wing their way through the sky. They glide across the grey canvas with effortless, unhurried, majestic ease. Not for them is the busy fluttering of wings like the lesser birds. They have quietly discarded the city below suffering from ADHS, and are flying away to the quiet splendour of a Jibanananda Das poem.
Am I too suffering from ADHS? When did I observe a kite last?
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