Across The Road

There's a man sprawled in the middle of a two-lane busy road. He doesn't have a care in the world that cars are honking, his bag's been ransacked, dogs are peeing on him...

"Food, water, home, job... that all he'll forget; but his daily prasad he'll take religiously," says a man walking by. 

We know where the "road block" has been tonight.

Across the road there is a 'Wine and Beer Shop' — government-approved. 

A little shake of the head, a big manoeuvre around the don't-know-if-he's-alive-or-dead body, and we leave him behind.

Across the road, a bit ahead somewhere, lives the first among us. 

****

A man and a woman are talking, standing a little too close for comfort: Ours. They don't really know that everybody and their brother can see them. 

"Get it on, do it... Go ahead and make our day" is what everyone's thinking. "Chhi, chhi. What are they doing!!" is what everyone says. 

We know what the man and the woman are up to tonight. 

Across the road there is a shady 'lodge' that says 'Night Queen'. 

A singular gasp of horror that mirrors the collective hypocrisy, and we have left the two lovers to their conversation.

Across the road, next to Night Queen, is the "humble abode" of the second among us.  

****

A single-file procession is up ahead of us. Looks like a grumpy old group. They can't really see anything other than the one carcass, wrapped in red cloth, they carry. 

"Oh! Some poor man is bereaved. How old do you think she was? Do you think she has any kids?" says the oldest of us. 

We know where they are going tonight. 

Across the road is the cremation ground that has been there for ages. 

A general murmur of sympathy and condolences, slower than necessary pace in tribute for the departed, and a sickening quiet interval later, we are ahead of the funeral procession.

Across the road, where the fumes from the burnt bodies can't touch us, lives the third of us.

****

A child, no more than three years old, is ambling on the side of the road. She is something to behold and wonder over in awe — with nothing more than a silly sparrow to keep her engrossed, she looks like the happiest person in my world. 

"I wish..." I say to myself. "I wish I could..."

I know what I will do tonight.

Across the road is the deep end. 

A decided nod of my head, I turn the car to it. There goes the last of us.

From across the road, the child looks up to see a screeching vehicle and then... a big sound with light.