HUES OF THE DAYLIGHT

If I want to taste the sweetness of the air, those intricate symbols of naturemisted in golden hues; my eyes have to welcome the sunrise. Not peeping at it through a window, or gazing, in a dull sense, while roaming on a terrace involved in morning mores. This isn’t how I want to hold the spectacle. It has to be only the Sun and me, across the vast bodies of water in open fields. Grab the wholeness of the glory. Feel the warmth without blinking when the vibrant Sun sprouts out from the horizon with its pure face. Like a true living being!

If I wish to enjoy the sunset, I need to wake up early and go. This time I made it to the nearest river bank.

On some days, I stand on the same shores proximate to the chaos of the bright crimson arcs the orange ball creates after its day’s journey before it returns to the silence of darkness. And I hold the shutter and sensor ever alert to immortalize the fleeting delights of twilight and dawn.

Simultaneously, I glimpse another sequence ondisplay, going about close to the river banks, as if to impress the actuality of real life, a somber show of survival. I see men and women, in their raw discipline, found so early in the morning in their regular tasks to earn their living. I find them silhouetted by the early haul of the warm orange sun; the fishers gathering their catch, the women folk washing and arranging their clothesline, a group of bereaved busy in rituals offering payers to their gone ones. A saffron sadhu squatted on the steps watching the whole drama, and an older woman stood with a flask selling tea to the assorted early morning visitors.

The contrast, I have realized those brittle hues ofthe art of hard work seemed unmissable. I indulge living my dreamsinmany sincere ways, slinging my camera snobbily. But when I observed those hardworking souls, sweating their lives, stoical in their hopes, I read a message, as if placarded for me – never to give up.