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
































































Yet another morning, jostling for foothold in the crowded bus-stop, amidst the tumultuous roars of furious engines and din of restless horns, I stood, waiting eagerly- an eagerness devoid of hope or enthusiasm- for my usual sweaty ride to the office. I stood there every morning, like clockwork, wondering if my spirit dragged my body or vice versa. I knew I wouldn't find the answer, but just to save my face for myself, my mind would divest itself in "activity" as if to divert me, from myself. The activity, call it perversion or frustration, was, as usual, picking the ladies passing by the road, and ogling at them- staring there where, probably somewhere in their deepest darkest corners, they like to be stared.