Even in the middle of the bazaar, even in the scorching heat of a day when the sun has charged all of its batteries and planned to exhaust them in a single afternoon, standing in the middle of it all, you feel that even though you are a human being, you can truly sense, in this moment, how and why ice creams melt. And after all of this, you would hear voices clashing at the fruit vendor’s thela, fighting not for glory but for that ten rupees the seller isn’t willing to let go. Some people carry this unanimous, inexplicable energy, to stand, to sweat, to feel themselves dissolving, and still manage to hold their ground in this ancient, undying battle of the bargain.
Extra credit must be given to those performing this act of fire in literal fire. A few steps away, someone stands watching all of it like it is some premium act in an orchestral theater, feeling not even a hint of boredom. They are standing in the same scorching course of heat, fully aware they could easily go home, or at least turn their face away, yet they don’t. Some people have gathered into themselves all the quiet, curious energy of the universe, and they can stand and watch any unfolding drama under the banner of pure, unhurried observation.
While the observer is busy observing the busy performance, everyone else seems to be rushing toward their destinations. Toward their homes, and even those who are homeless name their homelessness their home, and head faithfully toward its direction. It is one bustling road leading nowhere, with thousands walking it in the honest hope of reaching somewhere. Everyone carries a defined vector, a known direction, a forward pull. The observer stands in the middle of it all with zero velocity and no apparent destination, utterly, peacefully directionless.
And then, out of all these hustling, colliding footsteps, someone waves at this stranger — this observer — and smiles from under their mask. The observer smiles back.
And just like that, he gets to know that some people are still alive.
