Wrote this one long ago. A memoir of times when world was a happier place.

Just an observer sitting by the window.

No winds blow as small drops of water fall on the water of the pond.A distant street-light hidden partially by a rectangular tree on the other side of the pond forms a tapering line of white light on the water towards me.The image if the tree nearby on the water is disturbed by the steady sounds of the rain it makes as it touches the semi-green surface of the shadow.Amazing things,water are. None if the leaves are moving,not the date trees or the wild kochupata here by the pond. Some people have come out early with their umbrellas to catch some fish when the owner if the pond sleeps.

Owner of the pond…

Owner of the Fish!

Owns the Water ,too. In that case we are spared,maybe.We always dump our waste waters on the pond.Everyone here does.

He owns our waste too.

There I see a phallic radio tower rising behind a black building, looming threateningly over it,glaring at the pond(or the building).

There is no breeze,but the air is cool. It is coming from the pond.Perhaps one of the Owner’s machinations. I take a lungful while looking at the mass of weeds that has formed a semi-solid surface over the pond surface.

Since long,I tried to decipher what was inferred when the speaker remarked that Man was an island.I guess I will never find out.

The huts on the other side of the pond display their red,sun-baked tiles in an array,distorted at some places by black tarpaulin to cover leaks caused by blatant monkeys jumping over rooftops in search of bread and vegetables.The Owners are all fast asleep.

Now,the light begins to brighten,as the drama of life advances into the second quarter.There is the distant choo on the tracks,and my observances are special no more!

Its time to mingle with the rest and pretend I never saw the magic.

The Lyrictrotter