A Kite To Love

The remarkable view from the second floor of my room presents a pretty collage of colorful wires resting in an open uncongested space that only the rich air can afford in Delhi. These wires are important. On them the sparrows flirt. On them the banners sway. On them the sparkling fringes are festooned in festivals. They sparkle yellow in Diwali. They glitter green in Eid. On them Kite lived.

I knew Kite for about ten months. I first saw it in Jan’12, all colorful and gay, all beautiful and becoming. It had colors to rival a butterfly. It had beauty to rival a bird. It lent a meaning to the shabby wires. It lent a meaning to the encroached road beneath. It lent a meaning to my vain acts of sipping coffee and reading newspapers on my room’s balcony. Kids looked at it with desire. Me too. But it was an exercise in futility to desire it. It was impossible to have it. Firstly, it was hanging on the wire that almost ran in middle of the road with intimidating structures on both sides, at a height almost a feet or two above my floor. Secondly, it wasn’t an ordinary kite.

It had a way of looking at me that made me look at it for hours. It was a tinted wink it gave, gushing and chuckling as it it did so. I saw it swimming, with its parent thread keeping it from going too far. It scared me too when it leapt up precariously in the air as if trying to break away. Then it would be calm, with just a hint of activity. Its gyrations were the stuff of sheer poetry.  Its stillness the lyric of an elegy. It bathed and breathed in the same air I was disgusted with. I looked at it every day with awe and love. It became a routine. No. It became a ritual. It was my present to the princess – unerring attention, inordinate love.

Then came the rains. The season second in cruelty only to winters. The raindrops seemed to have swords and shields. They seemed to have pledged to melt bricks and humans. The dogs ran to find shelters in vain. The parents implored their kids to remain inside their shelters in vain. It was the spirit of rains. Everyone was given the chance to destroy themselves. Kite too.

It shed its glorious colors – the blue of a blue-eyed girl, the red of the tip of a child’s nose in winters, the green of the clothes of Elves in Santa’s toy workshop, the yellow of the sun’s reflection in water. I saw it being withered. Its beauty left under my watch. It was naked and cold, dripping and sick. I looked at it with sadness. Those were good times when it lasted. It didn’t go away but. It wasn’t there too. All the goodness was gone.

Then came the winters. I still looked at it every day. Nothing was left accept the thin sundries it was made of. It looked as if a broken ship, sighing in sad anonymity of the stifling sea. In the dense white fog of a November morning I found it gone. I waited for the fog to clear but I knew Kite wouldn’t be there. I was prepared for the tragic poignancy of the situation. I was right. It wasn’t there when the whiteness cleared. I went on the road to collect the remains. There was nothing to collect.

I knew it wasn’t an ordinary kite.



The image used here is the edited one. For the original beautiful click, visit:
Also, if you have a picture for “A Kite To Love”, do mail me at jainaashir@gmail.com. Take care!


13 thoughts on “A Kite To Love

  1. Nce one Brother .
    But as u know aashir,aaj ke is daur me azadi milna,azadi pana bahut muskil ho jata hai.kisi ko relations me bandhkar rahna padta hai to kisi ko kisi ke neeche control me rahna padta hai……Har patang ki kismat me azadi nhi hoti ,pahle to use uska order manana padta hai jo use udata hain ,uske ishaaron par nachna padta hai ,agar vo kat bhi jati hai to log uska peecha nhi chodte,ya to vo dubara se kisi ke haath aa jati hai ya phir jaisa tumne kaha wires(taaron)me fas jati hai.

    Har koi pana chahta hai,koi khone nhi chata,darte hain khone se,kisi ko azadi mil bhi rahi hai,to nhi maanege peecha karenge

    Tumhara kya,tumne us patang ko apni adat bana liya
    Kya vo bas ek adat thi?
    Ek hasrat thi ?
    Ya tum bhi auroon ki tarah use pana chahte the?

  2. Aashir me fourth floor par rahta hun aur kabhi kabhi soachta hun ki me kitna aazad hun us patang(kite)ki tarah jo hawaoon se baatain karti hai.

    Me fourth floor par rahta hun yahan se duniya bahut choti lagti hai,lagta hai ki sab apni mutthi me hai,sab control me hain.

    Kya height par rahna aazadi hai?
    Kya me aazad hun?

    Nahi mujhe bhi har pal us patang ki tarah vo dar satata hai ki kisi bhi pal mujhe neeche girna hoga neeche aana hoga.

    Vo hi rishte?Vo hi questions?

    Kya ek insaan ke jariye janm lene ka matlab ye hai ki aapko duniya ke rules n regulations ko apnana hoga ?

    Isase accha to me ek jaanvar hota atleast mujhe kisi ko jabab to nhi dena padta……………….

  3. very nice story.. very well written.. and many expert comments coming over on kites, freedom and all! but my dear you can never enjoy the beauty of kite flying higher and higher without a string.
    Flying higher is one phase of life achieving success, again with a control of string, and loosing control on self and being dettached from the string getting stuck somewhere and loosing self though you will look good but will loose your charm day by day..
    this is of course the second phase of life.. getting detached from your roots can never take you long..
    and finally the last stage any trouble coming to your life will finsh you badly.
    thats why a control, a help, a root, is always required..
    its your vision of life how you see it an obstacle/a guide

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