Tuesday 10th February 2018

by Siddharth Soni

There is a nub of stillness in the air, and this world rolls up to be a tacit sphere of eventless-ness, so bleak that my thoughtful mind can only distinguish the barren aura of dismal deeds. I stand near the window, that incompletely forms the part of a square-shaped park’s viewership. As I send my sleepy eyes into the dark, awkward sky of the night, only midway pinched by the shameless smile of the moon, for the first time, I did notice the distinct group of people near the foot of the hill. All held with hammers, and huge round bottomed, lopsided container filled with concrete and pebbles. It was around 8:00 O’clock and darkness everywhere made that distant source of radiance look even more distinguished. I was still not able to make out what the brightness was about, and decided to travel and discover the unusual-ness of the site.

As I travel through the fissured staircase, all covered with fluid concrete, I reach the ground from where I could say, myself standing an around six hundred meters from the strange site. I keep walking, in the same old sleepy manner, in between screaming at my window, ‘Just coming !!!” and then disappearing into the grass, some of them even six feet tall. There might be a component of threat from the grass, if by snakes or by other wild creepers. But for me, all those seem to have been a trivial threat. I have been too accustomed to nature, that a lightless, strangely maroon morning sun, or a powerful tornado would not catch so much of my attention. Rather, an urban element of a distant construction, such as this one would tempt a nature-lover like me to ride through the rusty fence of the park, and aside-wise from the mistaken holes through the barbed wires, sometimes even clinching over the mangrove bushes to cross an ovaluar pool of muddy Irish Moss. The world, is just awesome. Even inside the pool of the mud, there is a depth of natural artlessness. Even inside a half-burnt bush of a pine, there is a whole new world to explore.

Perhaps, the same tendency to explore has made me a philosophic picture. In that hunt, I finally reach a giant construction work, installed with tiny yellow heads (engineers). As I sit up on one rock, thrown down after been cut from the lofty edge of my friendly hillside, I drain down the muddy water filled inside my Adidas’ boots. I could perhaps, distinguished from all the persons in the world, hear the clamoring, rather begging sound of the trees that have been cut for construction of roads. Or the crying ripple of the incapable waves, crashing into the hard, concrete-fed wall of a dam. Or just the tired sound of the distant bird, flying so long because she could not spot out a tree, safe from humans to drop her daughter.

Incapable me, As I walk back aside a huge board nestled all over with “NH-31″ and a small little cat, sitting helplessly over it, with nobody to pull her down. Kicking the road side pebble, I walk back home, not even bothering to wipe aside the dung of the bird, which accidentally fell over my shoulders. Only thinking, “Maybe I will never the see a bird’s dung in the next few years..” and then suddenly, “Is there no foretelling person left in the world..” I disappear deep into the tall grass, where sometimes I do sit back till midnight.

Singing the melancholy strain,
Siddharth Soni

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