THE CAGE AND THE SHOES

It was yet another day. The morning alarmed him back to consciousness. His eyes filtered the early morning light through the windows. Every day was a caged existence. He woke up to exist and then to sleep again. He was a routine. His mornings were automated. A bottle of water, a flush in the toilet, the gargle in the mouth, a flash on the face – his tryst with water in the morning would bid him good bye.

His eyes would then, search for The- morning –Hindu. He’d feel a part of India, every time he flipped through the pages. He negotiated and created an India of his own, every day, as he became a part of The– every day -Hindu.

But today was not to be yet another day. This morning was not be The Hindu’s. Today’s was The– unusual – times of India’s; An India with which he could not negotiate and relate with. The times of India were not his times. If at all, an India existed in it, it was not his India – he never wanted to negotiate with an India which was not an India of his times. For, he existed in a cage - a window, a table and a chair. His boundaries pre-determined his actions. He could not-NOT be caged. His space existed before him. Until his today was visited by a not-so-hindu times of India.

Her days were not to be the same anymore. Her frozen -black and white- smile smiled back to her. She kissed her smile with her nose. The print smell was still fresh. It filled her lungs. Her breath could suck it and exhale every bit of it. She loved doing it. She smiled back. The frozen smile reciprocated it from The – usual- Times of –her- India. Her games were not her sports; her play was not her act and her masks - not her roles; for she was a champion. She was the India she dreams; the India she acts. She was present in the times of India.

Her phone sang, her shoes got life and the road ran back as a drop sweated it. She ran fast, the roads retreated faster. She was of the roads, and they belonged to her. She hit them every day. They were a routine in her life. She could not just be frozen.

His c‘age’-ing eyes. Her fr(l)ee-ing shoes. They belonged to each in their own spaces: One over tables, frozen on a chair; another on the roads, freed by the shoes. One defeated by the ‘unusual’ times that portrayed the frozen smiles; the other enabled by the ‘shoes’ that freed her into the times of her India. His caged existence could not stop her freed exploration.

P.S: thoughts, words and phrases are stolen and used without acknowledgement.