Shadows of a Stillness

Then the poorest of them all walked back home, hungry. Rickshaw-wallahs parked their rickshaws. The hands that built, created, slept cursing the rich man’s virus and hoping India will see its day, and the sky will still remain blue.

The sanest, #beautiful ones developed new hobbies, posted pictures of quarantined privileges, screamed with their apprehension to fight their withdrawal symptoms that showed due to the lack of social interaction.

Research said addicts might go back to gutka and good old bidi. Nobody knew whose conspiracy was it, but rumor said some journalist died in the mean time for investigating it.

The poorest who walked were sprayed by some stupid chemicals. God knows, maybe it should have been used to cure the ugly society.

Stray animals wagged their tails more. Some fed them. They looked happier. Birds chirped, they seemed less afraid. I could sit with them for long.

Some phony Indians still banged thalis at 5pm as an ode to Modi’s 20th March speech. "Human beings are creatures of habit"(AR). Crime rates fell down, apparently a sense of apocalypse made them kinder and of course scared.

Conspiracy is not communist, socialist nor democratic. It is ideal independent, people specific and power hungry. Amid all these some clapped for ‘Shaheen Bagh ki aurtein ghar chali gayi’. 'Dil dhoondta hai fir wahi Raat din' seemed real. It’s easy to be happy, no?

“ये बस्ती है मुर्दा-परस्तों की बस्ती
यहाँ पर तो जीवन से है मौत सस्ती
ये दुनिया अगर मिल भी जाए तो क्या है
ये दुनिया अगर मिल भी जाए तो क्या है”

~SL

Delhi remained the same, incredibly handsome. Sky looked innocent, sometimes it looked as if it portrays marks of someone’s hand on the grain. Sometimes, clouds had the hurry to meet other clouds.

It rained occasionally. Most nights I went for a run. Lovers and friends remembered how holding each other felt like. Mother loved us more.

(photographs are taken by me)