April 28, 2007

Patrons of Art, all..

I heard him before I saw him. As I walked down the footover bridge, listening to the sweet notes, I tried to find its source. As I kept walking turning my head this way and the other, the music grew stronger. It was a flute being played with the utmost devotion. I stood by the side listening keenly to the sounds emanating from the hollow piece of wood. Once did he not pause. He went on producing lovely melodies. A few times I heard him jangle his bowl with its meagre contents. It was an accompaniment to his flute.

I dropped some money into the bowl. I wondered if I am encouraging this commerce. Considered undesirable by many. But I judge these by independent parameters. The old man continued to ardently play his instrument. Without awaiting brief clinks into his begging bowl. Resting only for a moment between two tunes. I enjoyed those renditions. He is part of the sights and sounds of the local train. I also imagained that he perhaps holds a day-job and that he does this in the evenings to earn some extra cash.

It is a service like any other that I'm willing to pay for.