Ever so refreshed in life, but tired in body, they rested. From the serenity of the hills, they returned back to everyday insanity. Hairpin after hairpin, the vehicle twisted and writhed. At every curve, there lay an unexpected obstacle. In a slight daze, the world was just waking up to the bright morning in the hills. The vehicle was about to begin yet another ascent. A glance at the side-view mirror revealed the weary souls who were asleep. Brows creased as a result of uncomfortable sleeping positions, some slouched, some heads nodding, some fixed, while others leaned on fellow travelers like a pack of cards under a domino spell.
The radio song pried into the morning silence and the monotonous engine roar. It pierced through the white noise and woke them up, one by one. Some were persistent and continued to sleep. Others rubbed the creases on their skins, a result of crushing into limited car space and napping. Wooden flute that was apt for an oriental morning scene. No one spoke as though in reverence for the prelude…
Green. Green. Brilliant bursting green. The foliage boasted of life and fertility.
Blue. Blue. Tinges of an azure. The sky welcomed a new morn.
White. White. Foamy White. Ganga gurgled in recognition.
Tiny. Insignificant. Awed. You look at the world and sigh in pleasure.
Like a faithful pilgrim, you promise to return.
Then turn around, and walk into madness.