A perfect evening

Yesterday evening I was thinking about life.As I was sitting in my balcony I thought everything was just "as usual". The same old maddening crowd spreading haywire, the same old deafening voices that probably weren't speaking anything, the same old chirping birds back to their nests now.

Yes it was a perfect September Pittsburgh evening, and as I was staring into the emptiness, I couldn't help noticing a toddler with its young mother, in their lawn. I wondered what game was he trying to play, or what were the rules.... or did he even know what are rules. From all I could see he was just trying to throw a ball, and then chase it. His mother was apparently doing nothing, except for turning around and smiling to her child when he laughed at "successfully" chasing the ball.

I wondered what his mother might be thinking right now. And suddenly the empty voices became louder. "He should be coming home any moment now" or "I am so lucky I have him." I was amused to imagine what she might not even be thinking. And my attention shifted to another girl who was crossing the street, with her backpack hung carelessly round her shoulders and headphones plugged deep into her ears...." May be he will ask me out this weekend..." or "Will he call tonight?" And again, carelessly I moved on to the old couple sitting in the balcony across the street, sipping coffee. "I am so happy that 47 years back, I married you" or " We would be grandparents tomorrow !"

Yes it was a perfect September evening, and I noticed that the leaves had already begun to change their colors. And suddenly new fears appeared out of nowhere.

And I heard louder voices now. " If only you had stayed to find me waiting for you with your son, when you return from office" and "I can't believe you dumped me for her" and " I wish I could have this cancer instead of you"

I couldn't take it any longer.

And now when I sit here, writing nothing, I can probably realize that it indeed was a perfect evening. And everything was so much "as usual". Yet so different in some way. Isn't it amazing that life is so immense? Every face in the mad crowd has his/her own story, and that every deafening voice has something to say? We are probably just too much absorbed in ourselves to notice it.