A Thoroughfare Of Colour
I don’t know what root of hemlock convinced me to take up the tedious expedition of accompanying my family to an evening at the local fairground. Clearly a psychological outcast, my mood for the evening sharply contrasted with that of my party, who personified cheery enthusiasm. The Sun was busy gearing up for its advent in the West, bidding my horizon an unceremonious farewell. The monsoon seemed to have forgotten how to let go of the restraints and was letting out a disappointed sigh, breathing in the atmosphere and exhaling a mist of sultry humidity that made your skin tearful. Or so thought my contemplative mind. I walk down. The liquor store seemed to be exceptionally busy. People. Disillusioned people. Those who wished to drown their exasperation in a draught of liquid intoxication. I walk down the road which bears a freedom fighter’s name glued to it, and yet takes pride in being referred to as a janitor’s delight. Or may be a platoon of janitors. I walk down. The aro...