Blaze Of Colours
A little boy matured by the childhood he never had, yet too young for the lines on his face and the pain etched in his eyes, trudged on the road, dragging along the bicycle of his elder brother. Raising his arm to wipe the perspiration from his forehead didn’t help, it only smeared his face with soot and added to the sweat stains of his kameez. The boy was oblivious to the array of vibrant colours from the trail of bobbing balloons behind him.
It wasn’t a child’s pleasure: the squealing, the giggling, the laughter from playing with a balloon, the festivity it added to an occasion was all unheard and unseen by him. It was a livelihood, a luxury in the simplest of luxuries.
He looked up and his eye caught the sun, he pacified himself with a white lie, but in truth he was exhausted, his body ached and his feet burned from walking and he had barely any energy to ride the bike. A tear ever so slyly trembled down his cheek mingled with a whisper of a sigh.
Lightning cracked in the sky, tearing the furious canopy and gnawing it, and thunder rumbled, growled: raging at the sigh. The belligerent black clouds gave way to cascading rain, that soaked and seeped through the clothes of the little boy.
A smile that could have lit a thousand solar galaxies burst forth and unbridled laughter came gushing from the soul of the child. Placing his bike carefully against the wall, he opened his arms to embrace each gentle drop of mercy, to revel in it .Other children joined him splashing in puddles ,shrieking with delight at the biggest splash. Strangers they would remain but the happiness was a strong bond: it was more than relief, it was the air they breathed.
Soon the downpour ceased and the clouds parted to reveal a startling blue sky ; as if it had never rained at all.
The little boy climbed his bicycle and rode downhill , he was once again oblivious to the wave of hues he left in his wake, but this time it was because he was in a world of his own, whistling .
It was at this moment that he was captured by a photographer, and forever: when he was selected to be in a frame of the national anthem video. The whole country would stand: in respect, in honour, some because of obligation, some with reverence they couldn’t guise even if they wanted to.
Amongst the sprawling white marble architecture of the Faisal mosque, amongst jubilant cricket heroes who recently won, would be the little boy and his assortment of colours. A blazing trail against the startling blue sky, would forever remain a tribute to the nation’s unsung heroes.