"Life is the price we pay for running away from death "
































































The television played a new Bollywood song and it was loud enough for the kids to enjoy. The lady and her kids, their guts bloated with porridge slush, lay down on their beds with their ears tuned to the song. It was their daily lullaby. In a few moments, the door would open, a sloshed up male would walk in, and it would be time for the kids to force themselves to sleep. Ah! make no mistake, nobody forced it on the kids - they just learnt the trick in order to escape the uncomfortable scenes that followed.
DB:  Guruji! What the bloody hell is this independence day? I am sorry I can't celebrate a nonsensical concept. Humans draw up borders on the ground, break it into pieces, give it names, and then celebrate its independence. How can there be independence with walls all around us?
 
Guruji: Are you sure you really see beyond borders? Are you not bound anymore, by patriotism and community sentiments? Are you free from nationalistic passions?
 
DB:  Yes guruji. I certainly am free!
 
Guruji:  Well DB! You should celebrate independence day then...
The traffic moved at snail's pace. I murmured a curse on the city and its population, and grudgingly waited on. As I looked around, scanning people's faces and perusing the dirty compound wall beside me, a small huddle caught my eye. There was a bunch of them - winged Indian cockroaches - crouched in a dingy corner at the bottom of the stinking wall. A poet may well see them as Spartans forming a phalanx, but one could not deny the gut-wrenching awkwardness of the bony whiskers and spiny legs, bristling against each other. But right at that moment, something came over me; neither was I complaining about the traffic jam nor was I going katsaridophobically restless. Surprisingly there wasn't the trypophobic itch too!