Water drops have formed a kind of pothole on the dusty patch of land. The obese puppies don’t want to come out of their cool shed. It’s hot outside. There’s rubble around me, adding to the heat. I call the puppies. One peeps out expecting less love and more food. It sees I’m there only to pat its back, there’s no food in my hands. Plain bored, it walks away with a lot of dust and dry leaves sticking to its thick foliage of hair.
I stare at the falling drops now. Is there a pattern? plip-plop. plop-plip. Then I just stare blankly. How’s zilch? How’s detachment? How’s cold…or may be neutral? How’s callous? And I slip to the times when we went to the grassy lands. How we rolled on them! How we played in several waters- salty sea, cold waterfalls, tiny rivulets! How we hurled beach sand at each other, played noisily with flat stones on serene lakes, gambled with silly games, and almost played discus with the giant orange sun!