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Flying a piano
An airport
A trip together, the very last one
The tickets are booked, the bags given up.
The gates are so full, we have to find new seats. The cafes are so full, the queue makes people nervous.
Flights delayed, flights on time. We don't acknowledge. No one acknowledges. There's no reason to invest energy, is there.
But there's a public piano.
And he plays.
Slowly, people acknowledge.
He plays.
There are fairy lights strung around a concrete pillar.
He plays.
I wink at the little girl sitting across from me. She smirks back. We eat our bread together.
He plays.
And it's "what a wonderful world".
I see skies of blue
The announcements are unnerving. He plays.
And clouds of white
Eyes soften
The bright blessed day
Smiles grow
The dark sacred night
A girl stops to grin at him, how good his playing is. He smiles.
And I think to myself
For a minute, we live
What a wonderful world.
For a minute,
We are human.
“Where elegance of tradition whispers the tale of artwork.”
November’24, Bikaner House, New Delhi.