Broken
I like broken earthen pots!
They can be found at random rural places, cornered near trash bins or systematically placed in museums. Sometimes we ignore them and at other times we study them carefully but what really intrigues me is that they are never pitied upon. Unlike living beings, who always attract sympathy or pity when they seem to be broken.
For me, a broken pot is representative of the highest form of humility and unpretentiousness. It no longer needs to pretend to be a vessel that is bound to carry something all the time inside it. No need to fulfill any expectations or carry forward an age old belief of what it is supposed to be doing.
Inside a lab, people can examine about the stories that it carries I the chambers its heart. Outside the streets, children can break it into smaller pieces and play outdoor games with more enthusiasm than any world cup match. Sometimes, it can be thrown outside of town in some far away ground where it melts away into its mother's arms ready to be born again.
So, whether in a billionaire's display case or in a beggar's hut, a pot always dreams of a snap and a crack that would lead it to its salvation one day.
I like broken earthen pots!
They remind me of freedom. Whenever I see broken hearts, shattered dreams, fractured friendships, ruptured relationships; I know it's time for liberation. Because in that moment, I can see light entering through the cracks illuminating the heart.
I like broken earthen pots!
They can be found at random rural places, cornered near trash bins or systematically placed in museums. Sometimes we ignore them and at other times we study them carefully but what really intrigues me is that they are never pitied upon. Unlike living beings, who always attract sympathy or pity when they seem to be broken.
For me, a broken pot is representative of the highest form of humility and unpretentiousness. It no longer needs to pretend to be a vessel that is bound to carry something all the time inside it. No need to fulfill any expectations or carry forward an age old belief of what it is supposed to be doing.
Inside a lab, people can examine about the stories that it carries I the chambers its heart. Outside the streets, children can break it into smaller pieces and play outdoor games with more enthusiasm than any world cup match. Sometimes, it can be thrown outside of town in some far away ground where it melts away into its mother's arms ready to be born again.
So, whether in a billionaire's display case or in a beggar's hut, a pot always dreams of a snap and a crack that would lead it to its salvation one day.
I like broken earthen pots!
They remind me of freedom. Whenever I see broken hearts, shattered dreams, fractured friendships, ruptured relationships; I know it's time for liberation. Because in that moment, I can see light entering through the cracks illuminating the heart.
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