It was in the year 2001, when I had visited Darjeeling with my parents during my annual vacation at school. I was a kid back then and what remains as a part of the trip are hazy memories of locations and people.
From the bits and parts that I remember, I remember getting lost while coming out of the hotel with my parents where we had checked in. It was someone amidst the crowd who had captured my attention, and I, without realising had lost the grip of my mother's hand.
I kept staring at the person and with timid steps approached him. He had perfect rounded eyes which were a contrast to his shabby appearance, but what kept me glued to him was his smile. His smile had the radiance that could melt hearts. I saw a board near his legs which roughly translates as, " Help me, I can't see you but can feel the warmth of your gesture." So, he had lost his vision but his smile spoke a thousand stories that he held in his heart. He was blind to colours but possibly could feel the hues of life.
It was a chilly January evening, I stooped low and tried talking to that man. I was too small to ask anything that could hold profound meaning but somehow I felt curious enough to talk to him. He was an interesting person and I being a story monger, felt excited as I had accidentally colided with a story teller. Amidst all this, I was yet to realise that I practically had got lost and that it could be an alarming situation for me.
As the person began speaking about himself, he told me that colours to him are like the sway of the wind. When he feels a gentle gush of wind tickle his skin, that becomes a happy colour and when he senses a storm, that becomes a grim hue. What he had told me back then had deep rooted philosophy which I now realise.
His life was grim, not an easy one but he instead of looking at the grim side, was happy discovering the brighter angles. He knew he still had the power to sense things, if not see them. Colours to him weren't the hues we see through our naked eyes, he saw colours through his imagination.
He couldn't possibly complain about his state but what he could do was make happiness inherent. He was happy and he didn't even had to try being so, it came naturally to him hence the smile he had could melt frozen hearts as well. More than anything else, I remember his face holding that warm smile of his.
By then, my parents had found me but until they came seeking for me, I had learnt a lesson for life. It felt great getting lost because that very day I had found my inner self who wanted to be just like the happy man. I like to call him a happy man because he knew to derive happiness even out of sadness. After all, do we have set standards for happiness?
At times when life hit me hard enough to not recognize hues of life, I tried to feel colours through my skin. It wasn't easy, it never was but more than being sad I chose to be happy, rather than shedding tears I chose to be a happy person . After all happiness is a choice. A choice to keep hoping for better things even when possibilities may seem dim. Who at all needs a reason to be happy, when happiness can be derived in everything we do!
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