“What is that? ” my neighbor’s eight year old kid inquired pointing towards the ceiling.
“It is a wind chime.” I replied.
“What is a wind chime?”
“Well, ” I said to him, ” it is something that makes music when there is a wind.”
“Show me.” He said looking at me with curious eyes.
I pushed the clapper of the chime gently with my finger tips in demonstration. The clapper collided with the chime tubes and produced tinkling sound.
“There, you see? That’s how this thing works.” I beamed at the young fellow.
“But you said the wind made the music; you did it with your hand. I want to see how it actually works.” The kid had a point.
“But there’s no wind here, in the middle of the room.” I said. “Okay, I will lift you up with my arms and you blow with your mouth on that,” I pointed at the clapper, “then you will see.”
“No I don’t want to see that, I want to see how it works in the wind outside.” The boy persisted.
“Do you really want me to take it off the ceiling and put it outside?” I inquired of him, wishing he would say no.
“Yes.” He said adamantly.
I relented to his demand to avoid annoying him and attracting unnecessary tantrums.
I hung the wind chime from one of the clotheslines in the porch. There was a slow breeze outside and the wind chime was literally chiming away. The volume and tune of the chimes changed with the change in the direction and speed of the breeze. The kid was very excited. He looked very happy listening to the chimes.
I was amused watching the kid enjoying so much. It’s not that I didn’t like it myself. The melody in the chimes had a soothing, almost zen like quality to it.
All of a sudden the kid spun around facing me and asked of me, “Isn’t it good, don’t you like it?”
“Yes I love it; it’s very good.” I answered.
“Are you going to put it back in the room?”
It was a simple question from an eight year old, but I was tongue tied for a moment. It seemed to me that the question had much deeper connotations. At that moment it seemed to me that my life is just like the deprived wind chime. The only difference is that, I knew the purpose of the latter right from the day I bought it from the store. Yet, till this moment it didn’t seem unusual that I had something that ought to have been put out in the open and I hung it right in the middle of a closed living room. It was meant to dance wildly out in the wind and produce soothing melody, but I used it instead to decorate my room.
Our routine bound life is so predictable. We go about our lives in a clockwork manner, knowing exactly how everyday begins and unfolds and ending each day exactly like the day before or the way it would most certainly end the day after. Now that I think about it, it seems so artificial.
We work our butts off for a fatter paycheck, greater incentives, higher positions and bring home the stress of it all. Material gains all the while and a secured retirement are the overarching priorities of our day to day life. But is this all life is about? Am I really doing justice to my life? Am I really living my life? Dangerous questions arise in my mind.
“So are you going to put it back in the room?” The little boy repeated his question.
“No, I won’t,” I sighed. “It’s getting late, let’s go inside.”
This post is in response to Daily post prompt Deprive