All the while as she waited, no sign of respite, the clock ticking by ceaselessly, breathing seemingly harder.
Her optimism was gradually fading, the smile turning to nervous twitches, the feet tapping rhythmically to the gush of the wind and roar of the seas.
The night was falling darker than before, the moonless sky not helping, she wringed her hands in despair as she paced up and down the beach.
Breaking the horizon, at last, she saw a trawler approaching, she held her breath as her stomach tingled, praying that it was the one she’d helped paint.
The horizon had never seemed farther, the time never went slower, as seconds seemed like hours and eras had bygone as the trawler broke shore.
“Oh I was so worried,” she teared as she clung to her husband’s torso. Amused, he was going to mock her, but her tears made him say, “The winds held us longer than expected.”
“Are you alright, dear?”, he asked worried, when she didn’t let him go. He fell to his knees, unaware of the rocks scraping them. Blood trickled down on to the jagged pieces while he hugged her waist like never before.
“You see that man down there who’s cycling?” said the Creator to the little baby beside Him.
The soon-to-be-born gurgled, “Yes” in baby lingo.
Soon, even his mother would understand it as well as God did.
“That cyclist doesn’t have ambitions. He hasn’t made plans on how he wants to spend his next five years. He saves much less than he spends. He helps his neighbor, an old lady, with rations every month. He gives kids, he doesn’t know, candies to eat. The world will tell you it is wrong to be him. They will tell you to think about yourself. They will mock you if you don’t plan. They will chide you for being ambition-less.”
The baby looked up at the peaceful soul beside him. He looked puzzled. Saliva dripped from the corners of his parted lips.
Chuckling, God took the baby in His lap, wiped the drool and continued, “I want you to be like him. I want you to live one day at a time, one moment at a time. I want you to dream but I don’t want you to become so blind with ambition that you forget why exactly you were living. I want you to respect the beauty of my creations and find your strengths, hopes and solace in them. I want you to always believe in yourself and in humanity. I want you to appreciate life much more than fear death.”
“Will it be easy?” the baby asked, looking down at so many unlike the cyclist.
“No, it won’t. And when it isn’t, remember that God did not bring you this far to abandon you.”
And saying so, He let go of the baby, whose head was now visible to the doctor as the mother screamed in pain.
Among the few worldly possessions I own, these are a few stones that I have. Actually they are more like pebbles from river beds. I’ll leave you guessing how I ever even laid my hands on them!
I took them out after a really long time today. A friend suggested an idea which I turned down initially but later seemed appealing to me in my boredom. The idea was primitive! Literally. Could we start a fire with these stones?
I tried it obviously. Under parental guidance! The only guidance my mother had was “Please keep the stones away from your face.”
I tried. I struck the pebbles hard and fast against each other. I was eagerly waiting for a spark to ignite! I’m sure if you looked into my eyes then, you could have seen the sparks of excitement! Well, turns out they were the only sparks.
You know how long I tried? I tried for almost four times the attention span of average humans. I tried for 30 whole seconds.
Well it’s not my fault that humans on an average have an attention span of eight seconds now. We’re down from twelve seconds in 2000. Even a goldfish has an attention span of nine seconds average, a full one second more than ours! Yes, that teeny weeny goldfish which has a teenier weenier brain weighing 0.097 grams (Average human brain weighs 1.5 kilogram).
Note to self : Primitive life wouldn’t suit me. I think that the primitive man/woman who first started the fire by striking the stones for, apparently, a very, very long time was more angry than bored! Boredom suits me. Anger doesn’t. I’m happier without pebble fire!
P.S. : How long would it really have taken to ignite a spark though? Anyone knows? Or is it all up to Google again?
The old man had been unwell for more than a couple of days now. The fever wasn’t breaking. He wasn’t worried about himself though. He was worried about his garden. He’d newly planted Canna Lilies in them. They were Madam’s favourite. He would have instructed his helper how to care for them well but the helper was on leave. Either ways, he wasn’t too keen on his helper’s work.
This evening, he’d tried walking out to the garden but he barely managed to reach the door of his own room. The doctor had been called. He prescribed some medicines and assured it wasn’t anything to worry about. The old man chided the cook, “I told you so.”
It hadn’t rained for a week now. It was unusually hot. If it didn’t rain soon, his garden would start wilting. In a long time, he wished his helper was here. Or at least the rains were. Either wish seemed far from being realized.
His son was around the same age as his helper. Every time he saw his helper, it reminded him of his son; a reminder that wasn’t happy or heart-stopping, a reminder that was melancholic and heartbreaking. His son was a charm with plants, but didn’t see the charm in them. “I want to do something bigger,” he used to say.
But the old man didn’t know anything bigger. Sure enough, there were bigger businesses he knew about, like the one Sir and Madam were doing. But at the end of the day, even they would come and admire his work. “What was bigger then?”, he thought. Even after his son had started working in another city, he stayed back with Sir and Madam. They loved his work and he used to love working for them. They’d given him a place to stay in their servants quarters.
After the doctor left, he tried sitting up to look at what he could of his gardens. It was dim now post dusk and his feeble eyes didn’t help either. He spent his evening alternately watching the blades of the fan rotate and dozing.
Night fell early and in spite of having slept almost all day, he slept like a log through the night too. He awoke well after the Sun had risen. He was rolling in sweat and blankets. The fever had broken. He turned towards the window and there were drops of water clinging onto the grills of the window.
Hopeful, he went up to the window. It wasn’t an easy walk but far less painful than yesterday. Indeed, they were water droplets. As he stood in the pool of water below his window, his eyes saw moist and glistening grass outside his window. The flowers were gleaming and waving at him in the morning breeze. He was ecstatic. The God loved His work too!
It was always dark inside their homes. The dim lights reaching the upper reaches let them know if it was time to sleep or not. All the elders worked hard for long during light, tirelessly and happily. He had lots of friends and they all lived, played and ate together. They were soon going to start work too. Today had ended and night had fallen. The elders were trooping in after a day’s work. Some worked further down and others went up to the place from where food and light came. There were others who took care of all of them. They were aplenty!
He was being trained. He had been told he would soon be sent upwards if he was strong enough. He was very excited. After dinner that night, he turned in early. Sleep made him stronger.
Much before it was time to wake up, he heard loud slurping noises and terrified shrieks from around him. Something ominous was happening. His roommates looked as terrified as he felt. He peered out from his corner of their home, hoping to see someone who could help them or tell them what was going on. He saw the villain make way.
It was a silver monster, gliding and silencing everyone in it’s path. It was coming their way. He ran towards the other end of the corner where all the others were already crouching out of fear. The monster was now at their door. Most of it pushed ahead but the rest was trickling towards them slowly. It was incessantly hot in there. It was suffocating too. He couldn’t breathe through the fumes and long before the monster could reach him, he had breathed his last. And so had everyone else. In a matter of a couple of minutes, it was all over. Their home would be put on display soon. With their bodies still buried inside.
Here’s how it happens :
Feel free to enlighten me with what you think about the process.
P.S. : Most YouTube comments on such videos seem to state fire ants as a hated species and also environmentally invasive and this process is nothing short of doing good for human life, both artistically and economically environmentally.