It was another lazy summer afternoon with me having nothing under the sun to do. I was ruminating on the time and space and how man is slave to both. Circumstances he calls it! It was then that I seemed to overhear the following conversation between the blue wall and the red ceiling fan. (Actually neither is the wall blue nor the ceiling fan red. But then, that’s a different story altogether…)

 

 

Red: How is the heat, blue?

 

Blue: Oh don’t ask! You can’t even imagine how hot it’s outside!

 

Red: Well that’s life you know. Sometimes it’s hot, sometimes it’s not. But who are we to question that? Ours is but to do and die…

 

Blue: No choice?

 

Red: None. Not now at least. Your horse was bolted long back, when you decided to adorn the wall and not be the ocean. You could have very well been the ocean you know. You are blue…

 

Blue: And couldn’t you have been the sun?

 

Red: I could have. But I enjoy being the ceiling fan nonetheless. I am happy. Pretty content. With my little world. With those little people down there. I am happy with my own little world. In a way, I am indeed the sun…

 

Blue: But I’d rather be the ocean…

 

Red: but look at your shade. You need to have a tinge of green, a hint of orange… then can you be the ocean. On the other hand, as a wall you are just perfect. Soothing, unobtrusive, obsequious pale blue. Just perfect.

 

Blue: I know I am a very good wall. And as the ocean, maybe I’ll fare very badly. I want to be the ocean because I like being the ocean, not because I’ll be good as the ocean…

 

 

 

 

After that I fell asleep…

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