After ages, the sky looked alive, filled with birds. Seizing the chance, many kites took to the skies to stretch their wings. Gliding gently in hypnotising circles, they mesmerise the watcher below into tracing their endless spirals, eyes spinning in tandem within their sockets. To describe a kite drifting effortlessly, without a flap of its wings, even the word graceful feels inadequate. Watching them circle high, riding invisible upward drafts, I felt myself retreating into my childhood. There is something uniquely captivating about the flight of birds, so much that one loses count of time, lost in following them across the sky. And the kite it seems, never bothers to glance down at the human crowds and their garbage-strewn streets. Perhaps it has no time nor the inclination to do that. If it had human emotions, what would it feel while flying? Fear of the deep abyss of earth beneath or joy that its wings never have to touch the filth, collected on the ground?

I try to imagine the distances the kites can peer into. For me, a concrete wall immediately blocks my probing view and my search for something alive, natural and unspoiled comes to an abrupt halt.

And most striking, the kites never collide with one another. They do not obstruct each other’s path. They do not push into another’s way nor bully others into giving way. They do not scribble on their wings or paste stickers proclaiming their faith or race. Even when hundreds soar together, they never create chaos, for they are untouched by selfishness, jealousy and injustice. Nor do they struggle under the heavy weight of biases and prejudices.

And yet, we, the self-proclaimed masters of the land, take pride in calling ourselves evolved, cultured, and refined.