In the flick of time

Whipping a storm in the puddle of mud,

Kids doing the lungi dance as their tiny feet and toes dug deep in the cake baked with nature’s happiness;

Lovers hands twirl into each other, drenching themselves in the heavy shower from top-to-toe;

Swirling into glimpse of joy flung at them, street urchins break into lungi dance, caught unaware by the glare of nay sayers;

Proud mother holding the new-born in her arms as she kisses her forehead, relishing divine moments;

The loner slink its step forward, indulging into priceless solitude move at the busy traffic signal;

Days of yore seem to be like an eluding dream, reflecting on the fading glory of once a life time memories whittling down like ice cream;

Moods of an era and a moment that shall cease to exist and become history in the flick of time.

With Love



  1. Reading this story makes me feel like I’m dancing, waltzing really. Loving and tender and elegant and really deeply immediate all at once; it plucks all the heart strings, I think. I think I can even feel the mud on my toes. Great atmosphere piece, Vishal!

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