I see the smoke disappear in the filtered sunrays of this pensive dusk.
I think of the new paintings they have put up outside the meeting rooms at office. Upstairs. The paintings inspired by the starry night.
I wonder why. They feel so out of place there. Hanging in their lumped loneliness, clinging to each other, staring at you .... do they inspire ? are they there to inspire. I pity the artist who must have painstakingly put his energy, pouring his heart into it, with this result.
Does result count then ? Yes, it does. In fact, our age has grown up to be result oriented to an extent that the means of getting there do not really matter. Then where do we place these, tiny bit of floating dreams, scattered around. Dreams, that you can chase your life through, without even one being realized ? ...... Reminds me of 'the famished road' by ben okri -- 'dream can be the highest point of a life'. It appeared to be the truth to a bleary-eyed teenager back in india, some seven years back. The same chap now dwells on the tough turf where decisions are imposed on him, in the meeting rooms, just by those paintings. Yet another loss to humanity ? Nobody gives a two penny damned. Nor do I.
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