Flying with kites

As soon as he would come home from school, he would run to the roof, in broad daylight with summers at their peak. Nothing would stop him, neither his mother’s scolding nor the heat. His favourite time of the day was when he was flying kites, for he had immense belief in them. He knew how taking his kite to the top would let him get his most peaceful sleep, for the satisfaction of reaching the top was the sweet reward. Each day had a new target. Each day had a new high.

Then while one day he was on the roof of his house, he saw a kite falling in front of his house. He rushed down the stairs to get the kite. Just as he reached down, he saw a bunch of kids, just like him, waiting for the kite to come down. Each of them, as ready as he was. Just as the kite was within the reach, it was snatched by almost all of them.

Poor kite! The kite being inanimate and lifeless, submitted to its fall. It was torn mercilessly. The sound of its death was really disturbing. But the kite did once soar high, really high. Once upon in its life, it did reach the horizon. Maybe that was it. Some things reach the top, but eventually someone pulls you down. Sometimes by will, sometimes by reason. Like each day has a night succeeding it, there can’t be light always unless you keep moving along with the light.

But did those kids learn anything. Will next time they would let the first one to get hold of the kite go away peacefully? I doubt. It is a sheer human tendency to desire what’s not meant for them. But snatching the desired when its not meant for you makes the desired useless for you. It becomes futile. Power is one example.