Different strokes !!!

Its after such a long time I am here, but it feels great to be back. I don’t know what made me stay away from this beautiful forum. May be I was too busy, too occupied with the chores of life, too tired from a long days work , too feeble in the thought generation process or simply too lazy to write something. I received a lot of flak for not writing something for so long, but it’s such an astonishing feeling to be loved by so many people. Thanks all, I promise I will be more regular from now on.
The past few weeks have been a very absorbing one. I say absorbing, because there have been lot of things going around in my life which has been so captivating for me on the emotional front. Just to comprehend and not going to the tits and bits of each incident, I was too absorbed emotionally and wanted to spend some time with – “Myself”.
I decided to ride down to the beach and when I reached there I was astounded to see thousands of people flocking at the beach. I parked my bike and became one among the crowd.
I looked around for a vacant space and finally parked myself into a well bounded area.
The sun was “ready steady go” – to set. The sky was filled with violet clouds and the sun was playing hide and seek with me. The sun had lost its hotness and I could face the sun with my eyes open. It sprayed around its beautiful colour on the sea water and the ever rising waves seemed as if it was basking in the glory of being witnessed by so many living souls.
The noise of the waves was out-powered by the noise of the crowd. There were jingles of the hawker, chattering of children, twittering of birds. Romance was filled in the air. I then realized why poets spent their lives in the bed of nature.
The air was filled with different activities. I had my reasons to come there and I thought, there would be so many stories - like or unlike me. For me it was just a crowd but the reality was that each and every person present there, would have his or her story to tell.
I had my task cut out for another hour. Just to explore the innumerable “untold stories” flowing around on that beach.
I looked around to see children playing beach cricket. The little bowler looked dreaded enough to knock down the stumps where as the batsman, whose bat was bigger than him, looked fiercely competitive. It seemed that he wanted to deposit the ball straight into the sea. The bowler delivered the ball, and a wild swing of the bat saw the ball sailing into the sea. Boy, wasn’t the little batsman happy! He leaped into the air and then into the waters to retrieve the ball. The ego clashes were fought and won by one. The victor had one story to say when he returned home while the loser would have one to hide.
Now my eyes moved around to capture another story. I saw a young couple cuddled holding hands in hands. It seemed they were not yet married, but were determined to. Looked like they wanted to have a space for (just) themselves, away from the society which questioned their togetherness. They looked madly in love seeking inspirations from the sea and the sun which had just come together after the sunset. The soliloquist in me wished them luck and I moved around to witness the most soul searching story of that evening.
I saw a family of three. A father, mother and the son. They looked like a rich family. Probably they looked tired of shopping and eating out at lavish restaurants. The child was busy playing with the sand. Making temples out of it. He made a mess of himself with sand all around but didn’t he look overjoyed with the situation? It seemed he was brought to the beach for the first time. Contrast to this situation my eyes rolled and rocked to the family of three again. The father and the mother looked like some daily labourers. Just adjacent to the the rich guys child this child was making his temple. The sand temple was so beautiful. His tender hands were making a masterpiece and I suddenly knew he was an ace in that. Probably the poor guy didn’t have much resources to take this child out for other entertainments. He must be bringing his family here every weekend and this little guy would be making a temple every time. Here I was viewing the irony that life presents.
I realised that life has different stories to cater. If you look around you would see so many people who are doing much better than you, but there are many more people who are battling against life with their chins up.
Life is never a bed of roses and would never be the same. It’s on us how we take it and move forward. We might not get, what all we wanted from life but there are scores of familes who are fighting for the basics of life.
With cluttered thoughts yet a clear mind I hopped into my bike and rode back home.