On days like today, it feels like the sky has curated itself for my viewing pleasure. All afternoon it was this reminiscent-of-post-rain, crystal clear blue littered with wispy white clouds. By evening the clouds had shape shifted and were starting to take on the colours of the setting sun; orange, pink, yellow, peach, but also bright blue higher up, each blending into the next and making me think: what colours would I have to mix to make the same shade with acrylics for my next sky painting? And is it even possible to imitate the colours of nature with plastic pigment? Because a lot of the sky paintings I’ve made have simply to do with the fact that the skies they were inspired by were too beautiful not to be translated into something tangible.
All day since I caught a glimpse of the sky when going home from the library, I’ve been thinking something along the lines of - what am I supposed to do with this beauty? As I drove home, I thought no, I should’ve stayed there, sat by the walking track, let myself purposefully appreciate this day for a little longer. But then I also knew that that would be my expectation, and I’d be sitting there knowing that I was there to appreciate, which somehow…takes a little bit away from that initial, pleasant surprise that came with the sight of a more interesting sky than usual.
As sunset time approached, I ran around the house as I always do on sky-days like this, for the best view of it. I know, such a silly girl. From my windows and balcony doors, there are a lot of obstructions - tall buildings, wires, trees blocking the horizon, the people in the driveway being able to see me gazing obsessively at something above them. I see them and I feel a little bad for them, for everyone currently at ground level unable to see what I can see. Not just ground level, but everyone indoors and praying, because the sky turns its bestest colours at around azaan time, hehe.
Anyway, I feel a bit like a frantic chicken doing this, because all I want to do is sit peacefully and watch the sky in all its calm gloriousness. It’s hardly a calm experience what with the desire to get the best view in the house and take a picture and simultaneously freaking out that this sunset window is limited in time.
So, as with other things I overthink, I wonder what I’m supposed to do with the beauty in this world. Because in my franticness to keep witnessing it, I’m holding on to it, right? In a way that takes away from the pleasantness of the first glimpse, the glimpse that makes me happy. All of it makes me happy, but I suppose I just want to see more of it - pretty Karachi skies are few and far between.
Maybe this requires practice in taking a beautiful thing for what it is, or maybe it means aspiring to a living situation in which the sky is all around me. But the point is that it exists. It exists in the sky, and in the delicate wings of a green flying insect I cannot name seated firmly on my sweatpants hanging out to dry, in the way Jimmy’s eyes squint as he finds a particularly sunny spot on the stairs on a chilly morning, in the way the clouds are mysteriously wispy on what was a very clear and unimpressive sky just an hour earlier, in a magic ladybug found on a cushion in the TV room, that I then transported on a spoon over to a welcoming flower pot.
I guess I’m just realizing lately that much of life can be dedicated to seeking out and creating beauty in some form. When I feel particularly low, I can come back to this thought, because it can be found just about anywhere.




Beautiful Karachi skies for sure are few and far between... grab the moment !