City Lights

It was a chilly Winter night in my small native town. I was making long lonesome strides under the moonlit sky through the road decorated with a paddy carpet of dry leaves of trees. The road was engulfed with fog, accumulating and becoming thick every hour, devoid of any other movement…devoid of any other sound but the breaking of stray leaves under my feet.

In that defused light of accumulating fog, which may resemble to the backdrop of psychic-mystery stories, I encountered something…some common-place visions—some strings of light—some patches of colour—some glimpses—glimpses of the City Lights!

# Light Source: One

A few boys, half naked, hardly with any protection for the North Wind, have joined together at the roadside. All are busy in pilling up withered leaves that come to them free of cost. Some one lit a match-stick and then—a whirlwind of joy! Joy of warmth—joy of light—joy of Campfire! Wait, is this a campfire, or rather, an inevitable necessity of life? Of survival? Of existence?

# Light Source: Two

In the junction where four roads meet beneath the move less feet of the giant sized replica of a Great National Hero, some shadowy figures are queuing up. Some are loaded with flags and banners—indicating their die hard faith on a leftist political ideologies; their banners announcing a few basic demands they believe to be their birth-rights; or at least, they are made to believe. All are waiting silently for the procession to commence forth. May their awaiting for the better prospects be not an endless one.

# Light Source: Three

Near the small Railway station, under the shade of a pan shop the youths are seriously engaged in the groovy matters of India-Australia test match. Each playing a Gavaskar in them, have some definite opinion about the team selection that none can reject nor can even try to.

# Light Source: Four

The Railway Siding Shed is busy as ever. Pay loaders groaning—clinching sound of iron teeth on the surface of heaped iron ores—the tired flow of exhausted perspiration from some lean bare bodies—some white smoke from shared cigarette tips.

# Light Source: Five

At one corner of a secluded blind lane—impassable for the gentlemen of the society—some ladies are waiting. Waiting eagerly for someone. Someone, ungentlemanly, with some basic urges to fulfill. Their eyes, expectant at the slightest human approach towards them; their heart, liquefied with the thoughts for the epiphytes who are impatiently waiting some place else with flat bellies and hungry eyes.

# Light Source: Six

By the side of a long wall through a lonely street, at a dark spot, a man is peeing off. The man, completely drunk, is in desperate effort to keep his balance up—resulting only a windy flow of water. He is mumbling continuously—belching out his agitations of life. No body is there to pay attention to his mutterings—except a street dog with wagging tail and friendly gaze…



…I made my long strides back; silently passed all of them, like a stranger, like a dumb. I was walking on a lonesome road—without a faint ray of light—surrounded by immense darkness. As if moving towards a black hole, I continued my long steps forward—I entered the black hole—I squeeze in the black hole—and the rest is Darkness…