The Balloon That Knew How to Rise... A Heart warming Tale from the Shores of Kerala

 “ Sunday Stories: The Success Secrets of Extraordinary”

In a peaceful coastal village in Kerala, where the golden sands kissed the gentle waves and the sea breeze carried the scent of salt and stories, lived an old man with a twinkle in his eyes and a heart full of joy.

Each morning, as the sun rose over the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange, peach, and rose, the old man would wheel his little wooden cart to the edge of the beach. 

The cart was no ordinary cart—it was a patchwork of bright colors, hand-painted with loving strokes of blue, yellow, and red, with cheerful flowers and swirls dancing across its sides.

Tied to the roof were dozens of balloons, swaying gently in the breeze. They bobbed like floating flowers— red as ripe cherries, yellow as mangoes in summer, blue as the ocean under a midday sun, and green as the coconut fronds rustling above. Some were round like marbles, others shaped like stars or hearts, and a few even shaped like animals — elephants🐘, rabbits 🐇, and birds that seemed ready to fly.

Children came running barefoot across the warm sand, their giggles mixing with the sound of the waves. Their eyes lit up at the sight of the balloons, and they would tug their parents by the hand, pointing and squealing in delight. 

Young couples strolled nearby, sharing secrets and smiles, while old men and women sat on stone benches, watching the clouds drift by like cotton boats in the sky.

But the balloon seller had a secret — a quiet kind of trick/hack.

Whenever the beach began to grow quiet and the laughter faded with the tide, he would gently untie a few balloons — just three or four — and let them go.

One by one, the balloons would rise into the air, catching the sunlight as they floated higher and higher. They didn’t just rise; they danced — twirling and dipping, riding the wind like playful birds. Passersby would stop in their tracks. Children would gasp and point, shouting, “Look! Look at the flying balloons!”

And just like that, the quiet beach would come alive again. The old man’s cart would be surrounded by tiny feet, excited voices, and outstretched hands.

He didn’t just sell balloons.
He sold wonder.
He sold joy & laughter.

One fine morning, when the sky was soft and pink with the promise of a new day, a ordinary looking boy walked slowly down the sandy path that led to the beach.

He wasn’t the kind of boy who shouted or raced ahead. He walked quietly, his steps careful and thoughtful. His shirt was old & simple, the color faded by many washes, and his sandals were dusty from the village road. But his eyes — oh, his eyes — they were full of curiosity, like little windows open to the world.

He stopped in front of the cart and looked up at the floating forest of colors. His gaze drifted over the bright reds and sunny yellows, the sparkling blues and playful greens. But he didn’t reach out like the other children. Instead, he pointed to the very back of the cart.

“That one,” he said softly.

The balloon seller leaned forward. “Which one, my boy?”

The child pointed again. “The black one.”

It was a simple balloon, tucked among all the colorful ones. Smooth and glossy, it shimmered like polished coal under the morning sun. No one had ever picked the black balloon before. Children usually reached for the brightest, loudest colors — never the quiet black one.

The old man looked at the boy for a long moment, then smiled gently. With careful fingers, he untied the black balloon and handed it to him.

The boy held it close, staring at its shiny surface. Then he looked up again and asked, “Will this black balloon go up in the sky too?”

The balloon seller slowly knelt down so he was eye-level with the boy. He placed a warm hand on the child’s shoulder and spoke gently, his soft but clear voice, 

“My child,” he said, “it’s not the color on the outside that makes a balloon rise. It’s what’s inside that lifts it to the sky.”

The boy stared at him, eyes wide.

“It’s the same with people,” the old man continued. “We may look different on the outside — dark or light, tall or small, loud or quiet — but what truly matters is what we carry within us. Our dreams, our courage, our kindness — those are the things that help us rise.”

The boy looked down at the black balloon again. This time, he didn’t see just a dark shape. He saw possibility. He saw a dream.

A slow smile spread across his face. He clutched the string of the balloon and nodded.

Then, something magical happened. As the boy walked away, he didn’t just walk. He walked taller, with a little bounce in his step, like someone who had just been given a secret — a powerful, invisible gift.

Children watched him curiously. Some even turned to look at the black balloon and wondered if it, too, held a secret. And high above the sea, in a sky full of color, the boy’s BLACK balloon shimmered with its own quiet light.

Moral:
It’s not what we look like on the outside that defines us.
It’s what we carry inside — our hopes, our strength, and our spirit — that lifts us higher in life.