Everything about my day until then had been extremely normal - which is to say I studied calculus until about 1:00 p.m. and left for my Chemistry class thereafter. The car I'm in has to traverse two long flyovers and a long, motivation-for-breaking-rules traffic signal.
I've always felt differently about flyovers and being closer to the sky. In Delhi, a city devoid of skyscrapers or other structures obscuring the sky, being on a flyover is, in a way, like floating in the sky. You can imagine cruising through the clouds if you look up and try to ignore other distracting elements such as streetlights and neon signboards.
The road is even better on the way to Rohtak or any other city whose path weaves through the countryside. The wide roads - surrounded on both sides by vast stretches of grass spotted here and there by a few brick kilns or Haryana's characteristic roadside dhabas - lift you up from the earth somehow. Especially at night, when if you're lucky a few stars come out from hiding, the sky feels similar to a huge ball ensconcing you, giving you a new, different home. The earth fades away, in a way, and the enlarged proportions of the sky make it easier to imagine all the fascinating stuff out there, light years away.
Flyovers are what I have to make do with, living in the city. On the way, my eyes are nearly always glued to the sky, hoping to catch a glimpse of the obscured, in search of some form of revelation.
On those days when Delhi faces unpredictable rains, water makes everything a shade brighter than it was before - makes you feel as if your eyes have strengthened senses with extraordinary colour perception. The thing I most treasure about the aftermath of the rains, however, is the cloud-filled sky which follows, sometimes a bright shade of purple from all the raindrops playing with light. At times, I have to look twice to ensure the enormous, dense clouds aren't mountains - an illusion I'm in love with.
The sky saw rain just before I left for my Chemistry class. When we had climbed those exhilarating few metres, a majestic view of the clouds dominated my sight. My eyes were addicted.
Suddenly, I felt extremely tiny. Insignificant, yet significant. Like I mentioned, as the sky's proportions grow larger in your sight, your imagination expands to include a wider perspective of the universe. Naturally, with each extension in the boundaries of the universe and my mind, I grew smaller and smaller in comparison, to slowly and eventually realise how there's something big out there - bigger than all of us. As an afterthought, the shattering loneliness of humanity came into view.
It's difficult to transform to words - a sort of emotion where you know and can feel the billions of events taking place at once from billions of varying perspectives. The complexity belittles you, your now-ironic musings, and yet, I've never enjoyed anything more.
If the sky at that moment wanted to say anything at all, it's that people don't really matter. Whether you're different or not makes absolutely no difference. Your actions, however, enter this immense story and go down in history - even the littlest of them.
Does this make anyone change how they do things or the stuff they love? Not me. In this never-ending kaleidoscope we're all part of, a sudden, enjoyable thought or a drawing burst of passion finds me fun amidst all the insignificance.
For if we ourselves don't matter, why would us realising this very fact do?
I've always felt differently about flyovers and being closer to the sky. In Delhi, a city devoid of skyscrapers or other structures obscuring the sky, being on a flyover is, in a way, like floating in the sky. You can imagine cruising through the clouds if you look up and try to ignore other distracting elements such as streetlights and neon signboards.
The road is even better on the way to Rohtak or any other city whose path weaves through the countryside. The wide roads - surrounded on both sides by vast stretches of grass spotted here and there by a few brick kilns or Haryana's characteristic roadside dhabas - lift you up from the earth somehow. Especially at night, when if you're lucky a few stars come out from hiding, the sky feels similar to a huge ball ensconcing you, giving you a new, different home. The earth fades away, in a way, and the enlarged proportions of the sky make it easier to imagine all the fascinating stuff out there, light years away.
Flyovers are what I have to make do with, living in the city. On the way, my eyes are nearly always glued to the sky, hoping to catch a glimpse of the obscured, in search of some form of revelation.
On those days when Delhi faces unpredictable rains, water makes everything a shade brighter than it was before - makes you feel as if your eyes have strengthened senses with extraordinary colour perception. The thing I most treasure about the aftermath of the rains, however, is the cloud-filled sky which follows, sometimes a bright shade of purple from all the raindrops playing with light. At times, I have to look twice to ensure the enormous, dense clouds aren't mountains - an illusion I'm in love with.
The sky saw rain just before I left for my Chemistry class. When we had climbed those exhilarating few metres, a majestic view of the clouds dominated my sight. My eyes were addicted.
Suddenly, I felt extremely tiny. Insignificant, yet significant. Like I mentioned, as the sky's proportions grow larger in your sight, your imagination expands to include a wider perspective of the universe. Naturally, with each extension in the boundaries of the universe and my mind, I grew smaller and smaller in comparison, to slowly and eventually realise how there's something big out there - bigger than all of us. As an afterthought, the shattering loneliness of humanity came into view.
It's difficult to transform to words - a sort of emotion where you know and can feel the billions of events taking place at once from billions of varying perspectives. The complexity belittles you, your now-ironic musings, and yet, I've never enjoyed anything more.
If the sky at that moment wanted to say anything at all, it's that people don't really matter. Whether you're different or not makes absolutely no difference. Your actions, however, enter this immense story and go down in history - even the littlest of them.
Does this make anyone change how they do things or the stuff they love? Not me. In this never-ending kaleidoscope we're all part of, a sudden, enjoyable thought or a drawing burst of passion finds me fun amidst all the insignificance.
For if we ourselves don't matter, why would us realising this very fact do?
