Beauty is where you Look for It

beauty

The cries could be heard in the entire corridor of the hospital. While some rose their heads, that were stooped low till now owing to the tension, and were suddenly elated at the sounds of the cries, others’ nerves suddenly got stressed. The person going through the hardest time, and through a torment of ever changing emotions, altering between tension, worry, elation, impatience…etc. was the father. It was an experience that was going to change his life. From now on he was going to live for yet another life. He had got a gift every man desires and loves to have. He was breathless, and on the verge of running into the operation theatre. It was with great effort, that he had controlled himself to wait for the nurse to arrive. The time lapse between the first cry and the arrival of the nurse was short, yet they were the longest seconds for him. The door finally opened and he was called in. As he entered, eyes impatient and searching, the nurse handed him the baby. A daughter. She was calm now. Asleep. Serene. Fair, with a tender skin, fragile hands, and lips rosier than anyone could ever have. The moment he took her in her arms, he knew he could and would do anything for her as long as she lives. His eyes met that of the mothers’. A smile was passed. He looked at the new comer again.
She was beautiful.

The five year old had arrived for the first time in school. She was dressed up, as her mother would always dress her up cutely. She looked nothing less than a doll, but the face that carried an adorable innocence, also carried nervousness, fear, and anxiety. She was in front of a whole class of strangers, though of her age, yet, strangers. Her anxiety was tangible. She remembered how her mother had told her that she should make new friends, that she would be happy and that the teacher is the sweetest person on Earth. This was something that was hard for her to accept. For her the sweetest person on Earth was the one talking. Nevertheless, she understood, or so she thought, and with the promise of being back soon, her mother left her at the gates of the school under the guidance of the nun. She did come across as sweet, but, the little girl had started missing her mother the moment she turned away to go. Now she was in front of many five year-olds playing around, busy in their own world. From amongst them was one who noticed her. He could feel her anxiety and felt sad for her as she seemed on the verge of breaking into tears. Yet, even with the anxiety and nervousness on her face, she was beautiful.

He had been running like poetry in the soccer field of the school. The movements were impeccable, flawless, mesmerizing. As she sat on the bleachers to watch the game even as her friends had refused to sit with her- for it was merely a practice match- she took out her book to pretend that she wasn’t too attracted to the game, or rather the player. He was one, who would easily merge with the crowd, in a normal outer world. A mere somebody. Yet, in the field, he was an amazing player. So were the others, but somehow, he had been able to grab her attention, obliviously. The tanned and toned flesh made swish movements from one part to another, hard for her to follow. Yet she was amazed, impressed. If let on her will, she could watch him play twenty-four-seven.

For her, he was beautiful.

She took her canvas and kept it on the stand in the middle of the orchid field. She turned an eye across the expanse of the field and heaved a sigh. It was too magnificent to be real, that too with elements spread hither and tither, like birds that formed an amazing pattern, and squirrels and rabbits jumping and being playful. She could capture the graceful scenario, but how could she capture the vivacity and verve of nature on something as stagnant as her painting. The life would be extracted out of the set-up even if she did succeed in imitating nature’s bounties and beauties.  Tired, she packed her canvas and instead of turning around and going back, sat down in the grass to bask in the breath-taking exquisiteness.
It was beautiful.

He was sitting calmly as she rocked in a rhythmic fashion on the rocking chair. He smiled at the two generations that had succeeded him and were now the source of adding spice to a life that would have gone bland without them. He saw the kids, the youngest generation, running here and there, their laughter echoing merrily in the house…and in his heart. He saw his son caressing his wife lovingly as he headed out for work, while the wife took care of the whole house like a superhuman. He saw his daughter teaching the kids some attributes, happily, tenderly. He felt satiated. He felt he had had a successful, happy life.

‘Life’, it was beautiful. 

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