One of my favourite pastimes is allocating absolute assiduity, losing lustre in contemporary world. As I passed by the busy artisan, I was intrigued by the viability of the fading printing art. I settled down on the brick seating, not meant to sit safely.
“What is that liquid in the tray, sir?” I was fascinated to know more about it.
“Is it water or acid?” I gave him options to choose, but he was too busy to pay heed to my inquisition.
His white hair was symbolic of the experience he had, and his fingers, of the skills he possessed. Keeping in mind, that every art form desires freedom from degradation, freedom from restriction and freedom from foreign invasion, I maintained silence.
“It is a mixture of both, an adulterated one.” He said in a feeble voice.
I was happy that I convinced him for gaining certain pieces of information. I began noting it down in my slip pad.
“Nothing comes without adulteration these days. The truth we speak is adulterated with traces of lies. The care we get is adulterated with fouls of ignorance. The work we do is adulterated with chunks of truancy. The sleep we long for is adulterated with clouds of fear. The hunger and thirst we endure is adulterated with corruption. In short, the life we live is adulterated with injections of death.” He added.
I was noting this down, but never thought that he was dictating a precious, yet inexpensive lesson to me. I rose to depart, but with an unadulterated thought process.
Picture Credit: Sanjay Pal