The catch in chaos.

Blots may not necessarily mean impediments. They are what offer succour to a near-perfect canvas. A dash of colour to a dull, uniform painting. A deviation from the mundane. A relief from the eye-sore that uniformity is.

Take time off your busy rest-taking moments and look through the window. You will know what I intend to convey. You may or may not understand the feeling but you will know. The sky is an ocean, a vast expanse of blue hue that never ceases. If not for the clouds that blot, how are we to lead a healthy life? There would be no rain for the farmers. No seed will rear its head from underground. No harvest takes place throughout the year. And ultimately the vortex of hunger draws in the rural and the urban class, the literate and the illiterate, the rich and the poor, the men and the women. It does not distinguish and does not side with any particular ilk.

Such is the power of a blot. We have always thought of them as our lethargy or carelessness that intruded the work which otherwise would have been perfectly performed. We categorized them as garbage, something to be removed and destroyed as and when it was observed. I beg to differ. We shall learn from blots. We shall learn that achieving perfection will act as a perfect anathema to the resurgence of creativity and innovation.