The white bedsheets are an empty canvas and the scattered blocks are his chaotic paint. He sits there in his red and white striped shirt entirely absorbed in a world that only he can see. I watch his small hands pick up a piece, examine it, and press it into another. There is a profound silence in his concentration. It is the kind of quietness we lose as we grow older.
Looking at those disjointed plastic pieces, I cannot help but see the fragments of our own lives. We are constantly surrounded by isolated moments, random encounters, and unpredictable days. On their own they seem to lack meaning. But given enough patience we piece them together into a narrative we call a life.
They simply play. And for a moment, the whole world becomes enough.
It brings to mind Tagore and his timeless lines from Gitanjali. He wrote of children meeting on the seashore of endless worlds, building houses with sand and playing with empty shells. They do not seek hidden treasures or cast fishing nets. They simply play. Sitting on this bed, my son is on that very seashore.
We carry the heavy luggage of yesterday and the anxious blueprints of tomorrow. But his entire universe exists right here in the space between his fingers. He is breathing in the absolute purity of the present.
Carl Jung believed that creating something new does not come from the intellect. It comes from an inner necessity, a play instinct. The creative mind plays with the objects it loves. This is exactly what is unfolding in front of me. He is not trying to engineer a perfect car. He is simply letting his imagination spill out into the physical world.
But the most beautiful part is what happens tomorrow. He will take this car apart. He will pull the pieces away from each other without a single trace of sorrow and use them to build something else. He creates for the sheer joy of creating, completely unattached to the final product.
We hold onto things until our hands bleed. We grieve over broken plans and shifting realities. Yet here is a masterclass in letting go, taught quietly by a child playing on a Sunday afternoon. He knows that no matter how many times a structure falls apart the pieces remain. They are just waiting to be built into a new dream.
By the way, did you know that I’m actively writing in malayalam also these days. Find them here. I’ve written a small book as well if you’re into that. If you like listening to stuff, do scroll through the selection of podcasts. If you’ve time, have a look at the visuals I’ve made. Grateful for your moment here. Keep coming back here : )