The imperfect birds

My cousin, Soma, is only a few months younger than I. She is my father’s cousin’s daughter. According to our Indian tradition, we have to touch the feet of our elders and show them tremendous respect. This time when I arrived, my cousin bent down, and her hands were only a foot away from my feet. But I stopped her, saying, “No, I will not allow you to touch my feet. I live in America. I am modern; you are also modern. Now we live in modern society.”

Soma cooked a delicious meal and we chatted and chatted.

On the second day I was drawing birds. As she stood in front of me, her comment was, “Oh, they are nice, but they are not perfect.”

I said, “You are right; they are not perfect. But, tell me, what do you mean by perfection?”

She answered, “Perfection will be found if you take five minutes for each bird. Here you don’t take even five seconds. If you take five minutes, it will look nicer, and I will call it perfect.”

I said, “I can take ten minutes, but I will still say that the one that took only five seconds gave me more joy. I am doing this only to get joy. I cannot explain to you fully what perfection is for me, but anything that gives me joy and satisfaction is perfection.”

She said, “Indeed, this is your philosophy. But who is going to accept your philosophy?”

I said, “I am going to accept my philosophy. If nobody else does, what can I do?” And then I continued my drawing.