Life is a race. Well, it had been a race but with the novel corona virus spreading its kingdom, the race has come to a halt. These times have been a mirror to those who bothered to stop and reflect. While for others, it turned out to be the most frustrating period of their life.

The lock down has brought with it an increase in depression, frustration, complaints and several other negativities.

We, humans, always have a choice. We can choose to sit and complain, be angry and frustrated or we can choose to reflect, make ourselves better.

When things aren't in your control, why don't you ask yourself:

In this situation, where I possess no control of events, should I crib or should I let go or do something to improve?

You will receive your answer !

While work hasn't stopped, I still, chose to reflect in these times of despair.

While ruffling through the past events, I tripped over a short memory. I can share it like a story, but one with an uncertain ending.

When you spend your days in the busyness of city crowds, nights often become special. The empty streets with handful vehicles and the street lights, soothe the soul.

I love nights. The moon, the starlit skies seem enchanting !

On one such night, as silence crawled, I heard a melodious tune. A flute ! 

The music was clearly audible and then it faded into a distant. I knew someone had passed by, playing the flute.

The very next day, around same time at night, I heard it again. This time, the window was open and I could see the street light beams flooding the street with a dull yellowish-orange hue. And then I heard the flute coming closer...

Through the window, I saw a lean man with longer-than-normal and unruly hair riding a rickshaw while playing his flute, absolutely lost. In moments, he was out of sight. The music had faded away.

Every night, that music could be heard. The melodious tune played, while the rickshaw rattled away.

One evening, I was out, looking for a rickshaw. Then, I got one and as I sat, I realised the rickshaw puller was the same, who returns home at night while playing on his flute. He dropped me to my destination. I remember asking him the fare. He had replied with a smile, 'Whatever you pay, I shall accept.'

It was unusual, as the rickshaw rides often demand a bargain for fare. I paid the standard fare and he accepted with gratitude.

I still remember his face. Though shabby by appearance, his eyes gleamed from gratitude and the smile was intact. His eyes seemed lost. May be in the rhythm of his flute or life !

Months have passed, I haven't heard the music flowing with the winds of the night. Neither did I see him pass by, lost in his own world.

I don't know if I will ever listen that flute playing as it will fade into the distant street. But I do know that very few people can live the way he did.

Sometimes, such unusual souls leave a trail behind as they dance to their own rhythm...

And observers, capture them in memories...