Transition

It was crowded like any other day. shiny cars
with beautiful ladies inside halting at the red
traffic light. And in the hustle of crowd people
running off the foot path to make a fortune
though tiny from this halted traffic of rich.
Except for one. The little boy, crying silently
on the footpath. Eyes just brimming with tear, yet
to come out. The silent cry lost in the noisy
engines. Bare body he did not care about how rich
these people are and how poor his fellow mates
are. All he cared about was about his need. He
needed care. Getting off the bike I went slowly
to the kid, asked his name but got two droplets of
tears running down the black chicks as answer.
At least I freed what he was holding back. Tears.
He didn't care even about me or my existence. He
ran back on the footpath till he reached a
distance he felt safe. Looked back at me. I
smiled, he cried.Again. And he vanished from my
sight. I could no longer hear the noise of the
engines nor of those rich man shouting on their
cell phones. It was a silent world for me. I was
waken back to the noisy reality by a traffic
constable shouting over my shoulder for my
license and why I have parked the bike on the
footpath. In almost slow motion I could feel
myself drifting from what I feel real to what
they feel real. From silence to noise. From
individual need to mass desire. From myself to
the political society. I went on.

P.S. It was on this Koramangala signal (near my

office) Tuesday morning.

Truly
Abinash