Another story 2/3
Sights and sound refilled, the journey continues.
The second signal (yes, there are more signals than travel time), and more of the city's wonders present themselves to the boy, a corner side chaat shop, hard for him to look away, but given that the tummy was just full, the will over powered the gut, then again it was the set of buildings after the chaat shop that was interesting.
A set of new sights awaited the eyes at the road corner, a building under construction reflecting the expansion of a local bank branch, another one of those small, but neat, chai wallah shops with a fancy name to tag along and a sale, sale of export quality garments at throw away prices, (wonder how they manage to sell and remain with surplus all the time). Now more than the sale and the bank and the more endearing chaat shop it was the other side that held a moment . No, it was not a greener side, but was an empty space, a plot of land with no garbage dumped in it.
The children playing made no two bones about it. They played their hearts out at that plot everyday. It was the same ground their Ganesha festivals would be celebrated later on. The make shift tent was halfway through and was just lying there for the workers to come back. But for now the cricket match at hand was of pristine importance.
The bowler with all his key height and girth started his small run up of three steps to bowl, the kid batting, just as tall as the bat, stood gaurd as if to protect himself from one of those water baloons thrown at him during holi, a perfect straight ball, the bat almost nicking the ball and then the expected fateful crush happens.
The bus moves... Oh blessed fate, how could u do this, and the imagination falls to reveries of the multitude of possibilities that could have happened
The second signal (yes, there are more signals than travel time), and more of the city's wonders present themselves to the boy, a corner side chaat shop, hard for him to look away, but given that the tummy was just full, the will over powered the gut, then again it was the set of buildings after the chaat shop that was interesting.
A set of new sights awaited the eyes at the road corner, a building under construction reflecting the expansion of a local bank branch, another one of those small, but neat, chai wallah shops with a fancy name to tag along and a sale, sale of export quality garments at throw away prices, (wonder how they manage to sell and remain with surplus all the time). Now more than the sale and the bank and the more endearing chaat shop it was the other side that held a moment . No, it was not a greener side, but was an empty space, a plot of land with no garbage dumped in it.
The children playing made no two bones about it. They played their hearts out at that plot everyday. It was the same ground their Ganesha festivals would be celebrated later on. The make shift tent was halfway through and was just lying there for the workers to come back. But for now the cricket match at hand was of pristine importance.
The bowler with all his key height and girth started his small run up of three steps to bowl, the kid batting, just as tall as the bat, stood gaurd as if to protect himself from one of those water baloons thrown at him during holi, a perfect straight ball, the bat almost nicking the ball and then the expected fateful crush happens.
The bus moves... Oh blessed fate, how could u do this, and the imagination falls to reveries of the multitude of possibilities that could have happened
Beautiful (as usual)! I somehow got confused whether the whole thing happened in real or just a figment captured and narrated with so much care and details! I like the story style for one, its simplicity, and two, yet its complexities in terms of meaning and expression. Sooper!!!
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