January 5 2020, Sunday.

Sunday noon. The park was alive. With sun light. Children playing. Old couples peeling oranges.

I sat. Cross legged. Cool January air. Warm sun rays.

A brother and sister child ran around with their planes. Blue and red. Flying in the air. A swerve. And the planes fell. Often colliding. And they ran to pick up.

Another child was also playing. No. He was not playing. He was standing.

With a plane. Blue. Exactly similar. To the other blue plane.

This child watched. Standing. From a distance. The brother-sister duo. Run and play.

After some time. This child slowly. In hesitant steps. Stepped forward. And stood in front of them. The brother-sister duo.

He had an eye on the Red plane. He stretched out his hand. For the red plane.

The brother would not part with his plane. He clung to his red plane.

The boy continued to stand with a stretched hand.

 And then he offered his blue plane. To the brother in exchange.

Brother watched the blue plane. Took it. And returned the blue plane.

He did not part with his red plane. He understood perhaps he had a precious possession.

Then a magic happened.

Sister asked for the Red plane. From her brother. Brother gave.

Sister then asked for the blue plane from the boy. The boy gave.

Sister now had two planes. One Red. One Blue. In two hands.

Sister looked at both the planes. In both hands. For a few seconds. And then.

And then she gave the Red Plane to the boy. Who had asked.

Three children began running with their planes. Thereafter.

Playing. Throwing their planes high up in air.

No one cared which colour plane was whose. They just picked up whichever colour they laid their hands on.

I learnt a lovely lesson watching the children.

The art of negotiating. Of giving.

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