Flight Of Volition

“I wish I could fly like that.”

He turned, letting only his hand doing the work of flying the kite. I couldn’t see beyond his dark glasses but I could detect amusement nonetheless. 

“What makes you think you can’t fly?” he asked lightly.

I sighed. “In retrospect, I think I don’t want to be like a kite. No one wishes to be torn apart by those dreadful threads.”

Quiet laughter met my response and he turned towards the task at hand. I stopped myself from gritting my teeth in frustration. Uttarayan was always annoying for me – I could never learn how to fly a kite. And while I could understand the sheer pleasure that came from taking down another’s kite and the competitive spirit that marked this day, it was of no use to someone who was rendered only holding the firki. Or so as I thought.

“Here,” he gestured for me to come closer. The light blue kite was way high up in the sky, so much that I had to squint to look at it. “Hold this and answer your question yourself.”

“Even up so high, it’s still bound to the earth. You call that freedom?”

“You’re contradicting yourself. Sometimes, even a taste of it is enough. For if the kite were to be completely free, it would never come back. And that is not what it’s purpose is.”

I looked back at him, astonished. In that moment, I let go of the string and the kite swerved wildly, careening down.  It almost fell to the earth till he grabbed the string from my hands and stabilised it again.

“If you let go of the string, you don’t fly away; you fall to the earth instead.”

The lesson was learnt. I reached for the firki and stepped closer to the parapet. “Let’s spare the poor kite our philosophical repartee, shall we?”

I didn’t need to look at him to see his eyes crinkling with mirth. 

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Again, I wonder if this makes sense. Oh well.

Happy Makar Sakranti, everyone!