हम जब चाहें , आईने के सामने खड़े होकर अपना अक्स देख लेते हैं। हमारे हिसाब से ये उसका काम है। कभी सोचा, अगर उसका भी एक मन हो , वो कभी काम न करना चाहे तो ? हमारे सामने जा खड़े होने पर वो अक्स दिखाने से मना कर दे तो ? और कभी ये सोचा कि वो अपना चेहरा कहाँ जाकर देखता होगा? गौर कीजियेगा, हमारी ज़िंदगी में भी कुछ लोग एक आइने जैसे होते हैं। हम जब चाहें, उनका इस्तेमाल करते है , लेकिन उनका भी एक मन है, इस बारे में सोचते ही नहीं। फिर भी हमारे अगली बार उनके पास जाने पर वो कभी हमको इस बात का एहसास नहीं कराते।
leaves fall during the fall at the time to leave before the fall
I've been observing the tree outside my home for six years, it's full of life; nests all around; birds chirping; doves making peace among themselves, crows crying cacaphony and a dip from the palette of the sunset and the brush of twilight blends into something different and unique everyday for the tree to behold but still I find it lonely and still. Full of life, yet lonely. Full of smiles, yet crying. Full of glee yet years of regrets. Full of promises yet void of losses. It's been six years and only once had I seen it not being sad. Perhaps sadness isn't just one emotion or a state of mind. Sadness is composed of millions of leaves of trapped emotions when your heart didn't smile for a beat. Perhaps it would have been better to let the leaf fall down like a tear drop instead of trapping it in the cage of mind locked behind the doors of the stubborn mind but we humans have a knack of encapsulating moments vulnerable and emotions overwhelming. We tend to feel better or sad comparing ourselves to others. That's why humans are sad or hopeful or gleefully as compared to the other animals. We'll never feel complete. One who learns not to expect anything would live a life never of disappointments but of selfish life. We think, hypothetically speaking, living a life of zero expectations would be easy. Perhaps it is expectations that make living worth it, otherwise it would have been easier if the whole humanity was wiped out.
The mute spectator standing still under all the seasons was no different from any other living thing I had ever encountered. And I wanted the tree to live a life of acceptance and love, and maybe that's how the ritual of talking to trees bloomed within me and sprouted into a yellow flower with hearts engraved on it. I and the tree helped each other. When one would weep, another would embrace the one. We watched sunsets together.
On one occasion I came to know about the sadness of the tree, superimposing mine vertically, the fear of being left alone by the people we love. Every autumn, trees lose their babies as sacrifice. Every year they do, willingly unwillingly. I made the tree realise the art of letting go and appreciation of things we still possess. I reminded the tree of the nests birds make round the year except for a season, the breathtaking sunsets, the rains, the rainbows, the warm sunshine, scorching heat sometimes, and the nature of beauty and how humans too lose people in their way to life and death is an inevitable thing. And maybe I was teaching it the lessons I myself should have, the line between teacher and student melted into each other.
I made a promise on one condition, if it would learn to accept its fate and mould its perception in a different way.
I promised I would never let anyone cut my tree ever.