Yet another early morning post ...

My blogging time seems to have shifted from 3 to 5. Well, this atleast allows me to witness the sunrise. These being holidays, such days are going to increase. I hope i enter decently into the fourth year after a not so impressive performance in the EndSems to say the least. A long summer is looking forward to us. A summer which may be eventful in many ways. Hopefully a summer which is cool. Lets try something different today...

She looked down the road. The wait hasnt yet ended. She is still there, on the pavement, all alone. All alone among a million people. People moving everywhere. People moving in front of her and behind her. People walking across the street, people sleeping in their rooms in the buildings lining the road. People sipping coffee and reading the newspapers. Newspapers full of news. News about the uprisings in Iraq, the political bickerings in Bihar, the company mergers, the sporting feats and ofcourse, the predictions for the future. Somehow, strangely, 1/12 of the people all over the world seem to have been destined to the same fate by these columns everyday.
Anyhow, lets get back to the her. In her red dress, she looks up the street forlornly. When will the waited come? Someone taps her shoulder from behind. She turns around slowly only to face a rag doll. A rag doll with a hand stretched out. A rag doll with expectant eyes looking up to her, hoping for some coins. A dilemna now adds onto her burderned mind. Should she give or not? The heart says "Give, she really seems to need some money, poor hungy girl". The mind says, " No, unless we stop helping these people, they wont start to help themselves. The parents conveniently send their sons and daughters to beg and then use that money instead of working hard themselves. Shouldnt encourage this practice." Before the fight between the heart and the mind ends, the doll makes its way towards better prospects. Thus, not taking a decision also turned out to be a decision.
Relieved, her mind gets back to the prime concern. How long shall she be waiting for her dear? Maybe some trouble has befallen. Maybe she should go get some help. Maybe she should just be more patient. Every passing second makes the dub-dub louder. Her gentle heart is overworking itself. Come soon, she pleads. Someone pushes her on his way to reach somewhere quickly. She murders him with his eyes. Fortunately for him, his back was facing her. Had he looked at her, he would have instantly turned to ashes. She wonders about these people. Each busy in his own pursuit, with not a thought for the people along the way. What do they do once they reach their destination? Run after another one. Run. That reminds her. And she looks up the street again. Willing an appearance, materialise into view at the peak of that slanted road. But all that appear are minute droplets in her eyes. She didnt even realise that her eyes were moist. She closes her eyes tightly. She shouldnt let anyone see her now. Atleast not her teary eyes. She should be strong. Or atleast act strong. Thats what she is has been told time and again. Be strong. Dont cry. But why? When crying can peel away your grief, why shouldnt she cry?
She seem to be loosing all hope. Just then, through her closed eyes, she experiences the pleasure. The pleasure of that familiar touch. That familiar sound. She opens her eyes. The eyes now filled with tears of joy. She bends down and gets her face licked. Who was more joyful, its hard to say. She hugs her Tequila. A hug that communicates all her love.
Picking up her puppy, she heads back home. Its almost time for school now.