By Sakshat Rao
His burdened neck looked back onto the street
To see at whom the dogs were barking. His feet
Would have been too tired to run if his fears
Were true. But his senses, conditioned over years,
Were habituated to check for any danger.
Every little event now could be a mood-changer
For when he would later sit down for dinner.
After all, he was no more a stargazing beginner
To this city’s life. His Bollywood dreams had been
Crushed decades ago. Every letdown, he had seen
Over the course of his monochrome life.
He carried the tomatoes for which his wife
Had called him three times. He knew he would face
Scoldings for not bargaining in the marketplace.
With grocery prices approaching his salary, there
Was not much he could argue about. To be fair,
Even telephone bills were rising, so she should also
Not be calling him thrice to remind about the tomato.
He then remembered her pregnant belly and planned
Not to argue too much with her. As he saw his hand
Carrying the tomatoes, he once again had the thought
Of his unborn child. He once again could not
Decide whether he was happy or sad. Such
Was his life. He could not wait for the loving touch
Of his wife. Indifferent to the city noise, he carried
On, hoping to find comfort in the woman he had married.
His neck, burdened by today’s endless office workload,
Looked around for vehicles as he slowly crossed the road.
By Sakshat Rao
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