From My Veranda: First Floor…

Vincent van Gogh, The Starry Night. Oil on can...

Vincent van Gogh, The Starry Night. Oil on canvas, 73×92 cm, 28¾×36¼ in. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The mad village poet lies still, subdued…

I think the patients have all been satisfied, because none is here looking for the doctor. Drawn to the teeming life outside, I step out from my office onto the veranda.
Leaning against my left door post, from the first floor of the building, I welcome the evening life. I decidedly ignore those idly or curiously looking in my direction, wondering whom the well-dressed young man up in the hospital is. Little do they know this young man seemingly gazing into his phone is also interested in them -as objects in his writing!
Noises of all sorts of automobiles fill the air -salon cars, tricycles, commercial vans, private minivans, motorbikes and the occasional long vehicle.
“That looks like those minivans bound for long-distance journeys. I can imagine the people inside wondering when they will reach their destinations, exhilarating feelings stirring at the thought. They must be pretty comfortable as the windows are all up, creating a mini-environment of warmth, relative quiet and clean air. Or not -being possibly weary from a long journey.”
Most of the street crowd are probably returning home from work, looking forward to husbands, wives, siblings, children, and friends; flattened stomach-walls earnestly expecting the best home-made meals, or sickeningly imagining eating the same unsavoury dish again. God help them if they can’t even get a meal tonight! Many are looking forward to sweet rest from the worries and sorrows of the day. May the day’s evil be sufficient for the day! Some know they are yet to make enough profit for the day and are still looking forward to carrying more passengers to and fro. Pedestrians eager to get somewhere is seems. God help the homeless ones!
“See that young woman, looking twice her age, with an infant on her back. She is walking in the middle of the road with the limp, not of a medical illness, but of weariness. Somehow, she manages to throw one foot in front of the other; seemingly oblivious for the moment to the flood of traffic on either side, the ‘fine people in their great cars with their perfect lives’ or to that seemingly entranced young man -likely a medical doctor -slanted aginst the door post in that big hospital building. She has a black polythene bag which she swings from her firm grip. Not the dangling of playfulness or fiddling, but from the energy-conserving dangling of her arms. She is looking at something between the straight line ahead and the ground below her. I can’t see what it is. Maybe there is nothing there. Maybe she is just lost. Maybe…” I pray that light-weight specimen in the freely hanging polythene bag is not all she and the infant are going to eat tonight. Dear God, I pray there are not even many more parched mouths to feed at her home located where-I-do-not-even-know!
Oh! Goody! Time to become one of these endless spectacles swimming in the street of life below. Time to go home for tonight…

4 responses to “From My Veranda: First Floor…

  1. Pingback: From My Veranda: Second Floor… « Enchanted pen

  2. Pingback: From My Veranda: First Floor -Morning… « Enchanted pen

  3. Pingback: From My Veranda: First Floor, Evening… Soaked With Burdens In The Rain « Enchanted pen

  4. Pingback: From My Veranda: Third Floor, Evening… Blind World. « Enchanted pen

Even the most absurd thoughts can't ruffle this Enchanted Writer. Spill, please...

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