That Evening, This Evening


Dubai today resembles London and Mumbai. Grey Dubai is a rarity. From morning, it is gloomy. Raindrops fell like tiny diamonds being scattered by a wealthy prince. While driving to office, the mind was adrift. Like black clouds sailing in the sky. The mind thought of only one thing: What if this day turns out to be my last day?   


Immediately the thought was confronted by another thought. No, this day should not turn out to be my last day. It doesn’t matter for the person who goes away – but it matters for the people around him or her. The other day at the funeral a young colleague of mine, many years my junior, was boasting that last week he was driving his car in Al Ain at 160mph. 


I asked him if he was alone in this world. He said, ‘No Sir. I have my family.’ Then I told him if that was the case then he was doing a grave injustice to his family by over-speeding. There is no thrill in speed. It is courting disaster, flirting with death. Would he want his family to mourn for him with his body lying in a tangled mass of broken bones and ravaged flesh? He looked at me sheepishly. I told him next time before he presses the accelerator pedal, he should first think of his mother.

The evening is like a virgin waiting to be deflowered. The atmosphere is not the same. I hear the night whispering. Woh shaam kuchh ajeeb thi, yeh shaam bhi ajeeb hai. That evening there was hope. This evening also there is hope. The hoopoes of hope should always be allowed to peck in the courtyard of your dreams.




-          - NZ

10.12.2019

BN: 206  



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