The shadows had started to settle around the corners of the horizon, and there he was on his way back to his terminus. The signal turned red and like every other day, he started comparing the two kinds of life his eyes had always lugged. The kind of life he’d adored and the kind of life he’d loathed. In that clamor of polished, fancy cars, he used to find his silent pedals congenial and sometimes, it led his exasperation to a limit he couldn’t bear. May be it wasn’t because of his harmless conveyance, the reason was his own being – his vexed, suffocated days and nights among those deluxe cars, embellished castles and their residents, of course.
Picking every single piece of paper he always wished to find a getaway, to far, far away. But then, the screeches of the bygones hit his cerebrum so hard, making him remember those last few days of tuberculosis that abba had to live, those overpowering repulses that amma had to swallow every day, Apa’s silver strands, Guddu’s childhood, that he always wished to be different than his, all of them and he used to lose every single day.
“Time changes sweetheart. Time does change!”, without wondering he used to laugh real hard at amma’s pathetic little conjectures. Sometimes, he would just find himself a dark corner to cry the bellows out. Just like amma did when one time while sorting the junk, a piece of glass cut through his right foot, and amma cried like an infant wiping the blood.
He never really got what exactly was wrong, confinement of people like him or the black tricks of fate. It was just mud after all, “them” and “them”, no? Yet it was not when he looked closely. What a disgustingly beautiful irony it was, he wondered.
He was still muddled in his eerie thoughts when the signal turned green and someone from behind honked at him and like every day he smiled back for that’s what it was, whether he liked it or not!