Sunday 1st February 2018

by Siddharth Soni

Back from a colorless morning, I sit here occupied in utter loneliness as my parents have gone to Silliguri for bringing my new Hyundai i10. The same dreary morning, 4:00 AM and beige glow on roads, some mosquitoes noiselessly patrolling in and around the corners of the street light. Barely would you find a pedestrian walking on the street, holding a huge black umbrella and a rain coat that cover his calves so in an English style. ‘Is it Guwahati’ I often do wonder, looking at the english scenes in the morning. It looks more like London, the middlesex essence, that clutch of mosquitoes, the cobbled streets with few gentlemen walking pedestrially on the carefully constructed footpath as they cross by their side, a dark gallery of a royal restaurant. A more precisely escaping grass, between the closely adjacent tiles on footpath. And scenes of airplanes taking off noiselessly, too far from the distant runway as their blinking red skirts diminish in the air. So occupied, I was sitting both of my cheeks resting drowsily on my attached palms as I look at the old fisherman in search of a fish, probably the one that is yet asleep.

After an hour of applauding the so beautifully created morning gradient, I take a round cigarette as I stand on the gallery of my flat. Smoking it so prophetically, I barely do notice the orange extension of my nose. The world seems to be lazy and the same old lady was stargazing the sky so perceptively that their was a bound smile of confession on my face. The same old dog was to be seen, waving its tail and the same old illumination at one distant corner of the hill. The world is just the same, and it is one authentic thought that if it doesn’t seem to be same, we are lopsided. Time would not wait. The sun would rise just the same morning and the twilight would first occur the same time. Though monotonous, it is tickling to see the new A-Star passing by my side just the old quarter to the midnight, and the same truck full of grass would overtake a van, just those five minutes later.

Sitting on the sooty iron fence, I face yet another sun of my life, unveiling in the same way, it usually does. Looking at it profoundly, I lie on the grass, waiting for the same couple of lovebirds to fly over me, and waiting for the same cat that often do sit aside me as drink my juice. Then, waiting to stand up yet again and walk home barefoot, only midway turning back and confirming that my cat licks the last few drops of my juice sticking to the corners of my plastic glass.

Everything happened- just the same. And as I turn back before kicking the rusty old iron door of my house – I smile at the cat whose nose was then stuck with the glass. So formidably, so the same.


Siddharth Soni

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