Sunday ka Funda

True celebration should come from your life, in your life. And true celebration cannot be according to the calendar, that on the first of November you will celebrate. Strange, the whole year you are miserable and on the first of November suddenly you come out of misery, dancing. Either the misery was false or the first of November is false; both cannot be true. And once the first of November is gone, you are back in your dark hole, everybody in his misery, everybody in his anxiety. Life should be a continuous celebration, a festival of lights the whole year round. Only then you can grow up, you can blossom. Transform small things into celebration.

- Osho

I watched most of the World Cup cricket final match on television. It was a delight without all those 'other' aspects. And when the dholaks came out in the street below, I knew that for those who toil at menial tasks, this was not about a big or a small occasion; it was about celebrating. They did not wear bangles in the shades of the tricolour, or dress in blue or have large TV screens or money to spend on alcohol. Their spirits were not even about patriotism. They don't have dates marked on calendars, but then they don't have much to look forward to. So, when such a moment arrives, they just come out. What is there to celebrate, you ask. It is the sounds from their poor hands that bring the rich men's traffic to a halt, that make them roll down their glasses and cheer along.

Around 2 AM, view from my window

It makes me part my curtain of sleep and look down below from the window and although I can see only the lights from cars in the lane, I can visualise those who are walking and dancing with their hands up in the air. This is their flag, their nationalism, their moment.

I did not feel one bit of cynicism last night/early morning because I became a participant in their lives grabbed in such moments. And in that I celebrated mine.

April is the cruellest month, breeding

Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing

Memory and desire, stirring

Dull roots with spring rain.

- T.S.Eliot (From The Wasteland)