This is a Diwali story. Warning : it has a moral

I've been making rangolis for the last 6 years. Over the years, I thought I'd become pretty good at it. This illusion was fostered by neighbours' and family's compliments. [ I intentionally put neighbours first because they do not have an obligation to be kind and that makes their compliments a little more credible. No offense, mom and dad. I realize it must have taken a lot of effort to appear astounded and terribly interested when I first performed the feat of rhyming love with above.] I didnt think I was professional and never entered in any competition but I still thought I was..you know pretty good at it.

Come Diwali time at the Office and project managers are very busy in the very serious game of one-upmanship of decoration. There cant be too much crepe paper or too many gaudy lanterns. And then of cuorse..there has to be a ...rangoli.So, my PM is in my cubicle [my cubiclemates having fled to their hometowns] conferring with other leads. He's calling the other girls in my team and asking if they know how to make rangoli. He is shouting across the office to ask women. He doesn't even think to turn around and ask me.
Which is why I was compelled, the next day, to volunteer my services to the girl who was in charge of making the Rangoli. Just to stick it to my bosses. Mistake. She really knew what she was doing. She didnt even use chalk to make the outline! I am someone who uses a chalk and duster to make the design. For me, the duster is a very important part in making the design. She, on the other hand, just took the white powder and made the design. It was a beautiful design. Just like that. And then started discussing colour combinations. I usually choose the colour depending on what I have left over from the previous year factoring in the surface to be covered and quantity of colour left. She was talking about brightness and contrast! And then she started filling it in. Fast. I thought, "thats ok..even If I am slow.. mine will be even and ..better". The coloured sand fell obediantly from her fingers, smoothly filling up her part. I looked at my part. It looked more like a frickin landscape in yellow with hills, valleys and the odd crater. She very sweetly did not say anything. But the illusion was shattered. I smiled weakly and went back to work.

The next day, I debated whether to make one outside our home. I had been doing it for 6 years. My sister had been making it before that. Traditions are funny things. They sometimes make you do things you do not particularly want to. Thats not always a bad thing. I brought out the colours, chalk and my trusty duster.
Two hours of listening to Pearl Jam and Pink Floyd later, I was done.
My neighbours came in and complimented it. I smiled artificially. Then some more neigbours complimented. And I wondered why. I saw the rangoli again. I saw the lumps, splotches, the place where my headphones' wire had dipped into the rangoli and which I had tried to cover up. I saw the lack of symmetry, different shades of yellow in the opposite parts which I had hoped to pass off as shading but was actually the yellow colour getting over and being diluted with white. It was certainly not the best. Hardly even good. I wondered why they did it. Compliment it. I went around the building. There were maybe one or two other rangolis. That's it. And I think thats why they did it. To appreciate that someone had made one. To encourage someone to make another one next year. It didnt have to be amazing or colourful or perfect. It was enough that it was *there*.
[This is where I drive in the point if you skipped the previous paragraph] The next time you think "Oh, I could make a better movie than that" or "I can code more efficiently" or " I can do that with my eyes closed" or "I can writter better than that" or "I can sing better than Enrique" : What are you waiting for? Go ahead, do it. Because that other guy? He's actually doing it, making something.

P.S : Here's a pic of my Rangoli :




P.P.S: I *can* sing better than Enrique.