mindfulness

By Asif Khan On my morning walk, I noticed something seemingly small—a Buckwheat vine that had climbed to the top of the basketball court fence and curled itself into the shape of a question mark. At first glance, it might appear to be just another twist of nature. But it quietly watches life in the park where people from all walks of life, jog, walk their dogs, and sometimes stop for a quick conversation. At the same time ponders its existence. Its graceful curve that gazed toward the sky seems to ask deep, timeless questions that mirror the thoughts humans often have but rarely voice aloud. But if we pause, this sight becomes an invitation to reflect, to slow down, and to notice what we might otherwise overlook. Nature often presents us with quiet questions rather than loud answers. The question mark formed by the vine is like a living symbol: it asks us what we’re missing in our rush through daily life. What else is quietly unfolding around us while we are busy looking at screens or lost in thought? Such a moment reminds us that observation itself can be a form of mindfulness—a way to remain curious about the world. Why did the vine choose that spot? Why does it curl that way? What is it reaching for? And more personally: what am I reaching for? Am I allowing my curiosity to grow and explore, or am I fencing it in? In the article, I weaved together this small moment with reflections on: • How daily walks become richer when you look for tiny wonders. • The way natural forms—like the curl of a vine—echo human symbols and language. • The idea that nature constantly asks us to pay attention, to question, and to reconnect. • How embracing a mindset of curiosity can transform ordinary routines. The question mark on the fence becomes a perfect metaphor: life itself is full of questions, and sometimes, the answers are less important than the act of noticing and wondering. My article could encourage readers to find their own “question marks” each day—those small, surprising details and may start hearing the whispers of nature. “From my place at the top of this basketball court fence, where my tender tendril curls, quite by chance, into the shape of a question. I look up at the endless blue sky, and I wonder what is the purpose of life?— perhaps it holds the answers I seek. Each summer, I awaken, stretching new green limbs toward its warmth. Yet when the chill winds return, my leaves wither and fall. Why must I die, only to be reborn again? What is the purpose of this brief, repeating journey? From here, I see dogs walking beside their masters. I see people running, talking, sometimes laughing, sometimes lost in the glowing cell phone screens they hold. Do they ever look up at the sky, and see how boundless it is? Do they notice the small things—like my climb, slow and patient, rustling of the leaves, the warm breeze, or the songs of the birds? A few days ago, children plucked blossoms from my neighbors,— petals crushed underfoot on the basketball court, unknowing that flowers too feel wind’s whisper, and thirst for rain, that we live in our quiet way, too? I watch squirrels dash and rabbits hop across the park’s winding paths. Do they question where they are going, or do they simply run because running feels like life? Why does life twist and turn, sometimes gently, sometimes sharply, like my own vine—turning paths into mazes? On a bright sunny morning — usually a time associated with freshness, hope, and new beginnings, a mother brings her son and his friend to the basketball court — an ordinary, but a cheerful activity. Yet, instead of watching them, her head is bent, eyes fixed on the court floor. The way she keeps her head down suggests she might be carrying a heavy emotional burden. Perhaps she’s recently faced a crisis — a broken relationship, a financial struggle, or a recent loss. Mothers often give so much of themselves that they become emotionally and mentally drained. I started to think, maybe staring at the court floor could be a subconscious retreat into herself — a way to rest her mind, shutting out the brightness and energy around her. Perhaps she’s thinking deeply about her life. The other day I saw a homeless man dressed in dirty looking black pants, black shirt and a black peak cap who visits the park occasionally, sits on a picnic table with a paper bag and eats something from it. The clothes that he wears once may have had meaning, now dulled by time and hardship. He is someone who moves in the background of society, rarely seen, barely acknowledged. His picnic table becomes a small island of routine in an otherwise rootless existence. Eating with his head down suggests shame, fatigue, or a wish to remain unnoticed and when he lifts his head and gazes into space, the "big question mark" on his face may hint at memory, regret, or deep contemplation. He could be: Replaying moments of his past, asking how did I end up here? Still, even without answers, I find myself looking at the sky and I continue my slow climb, holding my questions like morning dew upon my leaves, trusting that even without knowing why, there is meaning in the reaching.“ The vine wonders, twisting skyward, life’s path a winding maze of hope and loss. Yet still it climbs, drawn by light it does not fully grasp, holding its questions gently, like leaves cupped to catch the morning sun. And perhaps, In that silent reaching, lies its answer. This fragile plant, though rooted in earth and bound to the fence, gazes skyward with an innocent longing to understand the great mystery of life. “Life is a maze, you are always on the run, If lost it’s hell, if found it’s heaven.”

mindfulness

The question mark on the fence; what Nature asks us each morning?

‘I have cancer, don’t tell my parents’: 6-year-old to Hyderabad doctor

Kuwait deports Indian fugitive Munawar Khan in bank fraud case

Hyderabad receives heavy rainfall, more in coming hours

Video: Telangana farmer thanks Mahabubabad Police for urea supply amid shortage

Hyderabad Airport gets level 4 accreditation in customer experience programme

When India’s biggest celebrities found a place on postal stamps