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Summer days.

Summer days. 
April, July may be. 
Pokhran, 96

Vacation days that saw afternoons stretch longer than the entire period itself and all I did was look out at the heat blaze past the tar surface of the roads outside. When nothing would move or dare to, these sparrows like school kids after the days final bell would dart between these slabs of stone placed on the boundary wall. The gateway although not aerial would always see them dive down and pass through it. Reminding me of planes in the sky while I trudged along indoors with my set of GI-Joe's wishful that I could have joined them.

Summer days. 
June.
Gurgaon, India

Days of hard labor when everything has changed from fantasy to non-fiction. The heat is unrelenting and the tar roads barely seem to be a challenge. As I dive through sometimes meaningless tasks trying to find a vent between the melancholy chores that stand on the boundary wall like those slabs of stone, I often hope... 
Are those sparrows still flying like they did? Will I still see them if I were to go back?

I hope they do. 
At least someones living it up, while I still stare from the indoors aspiring to join them - still..


Comments

Krutika3107 said…
" Are those sparrows still flying like they did? Will I still see them if I were to go back?
I hope they do. At least someones living it up, while I still stare from the indoors aspiring to join them - still."

Beautiful! :)
P. said…
Summer days, ah.

Perhaps the sparrows await you? Perhaps you need to escape from whatever is keeping you from trying to fly.

Non-fiction is simply not acceptable :)
Thanka Krusty. This is a true story from childhood... PC, I am trying. Not giving up.

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