As he drove along the long and weary road, chequered by the
street light lit patches, he thought about her. Tree after tree passed him by. So did formless shrubs, encased in earthen pots and lying on the median. Ensnared by the
never-ending streak of white paint on the road, he wondered where would she be at
that hour of the night. What exactly would she be doing? Probably she was sound
asleep, with her face still possessed by that all-knowing look on the face. The
look would be the strongest remnant of her awake self. He wondered if she’s
tucked in a cozy quilt, oblivious of the kittens biding time outside. Biding
time till they wake her up early morning with their incessant cry for attention.
He wondered if he was traveling closer to her with every tree he passed on the road. Maybe the trees were pillars of space and time, being vanquished along the
journey to hills.
As the car drove up a flyover, he envisioned the flyover
magically transporting him through a sheet of mist to the lush green hills. A diabolical acquaintance appears! Reality, the self-righteous watchdog, dispels the mist with no trace of any remorse.
As he dreamily stood in an unkempt elevator, watching the
red diodes change pattern in the lift display, his thoughts drifted to the
staircase that led to her apartment. He imagined her trudging along the
staircase, breathless from the excursion. She stops and turns around, searching
for a leopard to kick.
