It had broken his heart when he had come to know that she was renouncing the pleasures of life to become a nun. She had not even exited her teenage. He was responsible for her decision. He had broken her heart and her decision hit him with guilt.
He resorted to being behind the lens, using it to find and spread happiness. Kids, smiles, comedians, togetherness, couples, friends were his usual motifs. He had given up on the wish that someday she would know her impact on his life, till she walked into his exhibition with a friend.
The love birds were meeting after ages. The last time they met, members of anti-Romeo squad had mobbed them. They were publicly humiliated and thrashed. They were consenting adults in love and yet, they were treated like minors with ideologies forced on them.
They found sympathizers in opposing ideologists. They promised to keep a watch and branded themselves as Romeo Guards. Juliet was guarded by default. So, to be in full public view they perched themselves on electric cables. They wanted to make a statement. Defy the odds.
As they proceeded to kiss, they were in for a shock.
Every photo was a reminder of his past. It seemed that the walls were playing a highlight reel of his life. Every memory had a happy and a sad moment associated to it depending on the lens used. Every happy moment seemed like a trap and every sad moment an opportunity to break free.
The progression of these fleeting memories froze when he saw a photo depicting companionship. He missed his companion of life. What she was, wanted to be and could not be. As he stood staring the photo he could not move, trapped in his own reflections.
We voted in the peak of summer, in the heat of the sun,
To lead our country, make decisions, we get someone.
A drama that spread from North to South, East to West,
We checked everyone, and evaluated all for the best.
When all was done, we patiently watched and waited,
We were keen to know, anxious to hear with breath baited.
When the news was out, there was disappointment, confusion,
Looks like democracy, corruption, bad luck were in collusion
After all this, irony, this was our precarious predicament,
In the monsoon session, we again had a hung parliament.
Enough was enough. The bullizens and cowizens of Barnland were fed up with the proceedings in the current Dairyocratic election for the Prime Sinister of Barn. The candidates were Filthy Pig, an Opportunistic Dog and the Useless Hen.
Last term Lame Horse hayed away time. This year point of contention is mechanized milking. The dairy animals were happy that with no electricity it would not be possible. But suddenly these power lines appeared. Whoever won, it looked like a machine would milk them.
So, with only one thing in mind, 'Reservation', they took to the streets and rioted.
Eight months folded and confined, four months open and in mind,
Clutched onto in need; when not, discarded, kept in dark, made blind
This monsoon, I rebel, break away, float in open, seek my freedom,
Take shade under green umbrellas, a joy I have experienced seldom.
I still protect, still cover, with guidance of my open spirit and freewill,
Today, protect from tears of sky, small, in the middle of road, anthill.
With the wind, I come and go, which of the two, you will never know,
Keep guessing, not your usual one, I am the free-spirited umbrella ho.
Ok, which one do I rob today? This place is not going to be that difficult. There are no doors to secure the houses and they use plastic sheets for the ceiling. I have so many options.
The one with the blue sheets looks taller and must be more prosperous. I must make my first attempt at theft a huge success. I am sure there must be a few lakh rupees, some jewellery and some electronic valuables available to steal and sell in the market. By tomorrow afternoon I will be a rich man and then no more stealing.
Go to the caves, get the baby and deliver them to human parents. It is a good job, but it is taking its toll on me. The humans have repaid our hard work by destroying places where we live. So I have ended being alone. Most of my tribe is gone.
I am alone and these guys wonâ€™t stop demanding babies. So I get overworked and fumble. The other day I delivered a human baby to wolves and they raised him to be a better human. What can I say?
Now where did I drop today's baby?
Willdo emphasised, â€œI proposed the idea, Goa is not far, letâ€™s just do it.â€
Maydo contemplated, â€œI am not sure. I want to, but I am scared.â€
Wontdo negated, â€œWe shouldnâ€™t. What if our husbands find out?â€
Willdo cajoled, â€œThey went to Bangkok.â€
Wontdo preached, â€œThatâ€™s no reason to steal a trip.â€
Maydo enquired, â€œWill it be fun?â€
Willdo speculated, â€œI am sure, more than what we have with our husbands.â€
Maydo relented, â€œReally!!!â€
Wontdo objected, â€œHearsay, we will lose money for nothing.â€
Willdo prophesied, â€œWe wonâ€™t take money to the grave. Shake a leg, drink a peg.â€
Well!! This flock seems to have its craving for grass satiated. They have even gone full circle and doled out fertilizer pellets. Now I will have to bear the brunt of â€œSwachch Bharatâ€ crusaders. They will make me feel like a black sheep. I must build a toilet for the flock. But that should happen after I have built one for me and my family.
Time to go back. I donâ€™t want to start counting the sheep. What if I fall asleep? I donâ€™t want to. I want my grass as well. It seems a long road to my grass.
No no. Not interested. Please keep it to yourself. I have seen enough monsoons and winters to know the difference between raindrops and frost. I have earned a lot of respect and I keep it on my head. I might be in the twilight of my life but I still have dreams. (I am even wearing my spectacles to keep my dreams clear.) I may not have a roof on my head and my bed may be stony but I am wearing my dignity on my body.
Let me sleep and dream peacefully. Keep your damn stories to yourself.
â€œI will carry you for a while; then you carry me all the way,â€ The fisherman said to the boat. â€œI walk the sands and you ride the waves.â€
â€œYou will have a great catch, whatâ€™s in it for me?â€ asked the boat. â€œSoak in your favourite saline water and dance in joy on the sea with the waves. Isnâ€™t this your calling?â€ replied the fisherman dragging the boat into the sea. As the first waves hit the boat it buoyed with joy. With land gone, gone was lazy reluctance. The boat said â€œNow, letâ€™s get on with it.â€