It was a strange feeling. Just when he had thought, he had cleared everything out in his mind he noticed the loose end. The initial promiscuity instantly turned into a blatant and ugly apparentance. The dream was gone. The nightmare had began yet again.
He was back into the downtrodden dirty gully. On both sides of the gully, protrusions from little shanty houses liberally stretched into the street, so that he had to dodge and bend while walking. The whole place was pungent with smell of caged up poultry waiting to be decapitated.
This wasn’t what he imagined it to be. This wasn’t meant to be. Infact it wasn’t where he actually was.
However, his mind was so corrupt and unimaginative towards the virtuality, that he failed to see past them. He could smell, touch, feel and even see the stream in front of him; but his mind was so opaque that instead of the pure tiny water droplets that had sheave through the mountain rocks, it felt to him like Mumbai sewage.
He was a hunter of simplicity. A seeker of comfort. He could see both of them in his distant horizon. Both of them vanishing into the horizon like the evil cowboys from the westerns leaving him alone amidst the arid landscape left to dream about tropical thunder storms over the backwaters. Drip.. drip.. drip…
In the back of his mind he knew his metamorphic expressions were escapist and hollow attempts at staying put with his state of lethargy. A bait. No, a chain.
“Honestly duudeee! who cares if it is a chain or a bait” thus spoke his mind. A rare honest opinion. But, he was remarkable efficient in branding this thought as naivety and continued with his metamorphic non-frugality.
