In Other Words

                 Sometimes, he felt as if he were in a dream. The road, contrary to its usual cacophonous and dusty demeanour symptomatic of a bustling medley of vehicles (and voices), wore a silent, almost sepulchral look. No horns being blown, no smoke to obscure the surroundings. Looking above, he could soak in the resplendence of the blue sky interspersed with white clouds as birds criss-crossed it with a revelous frenzy. The global crisis, he realized, had fortuitously wrapped the physical world with a veneer of serenity.              It was in class nine that he had first met the word ‘dichotomy’. While it had expectedly eluded his comprehensive ability, he was quick to seek the help of the English teacher, who, besides explaining its meaning, had added a supplementary, yet significant advice- ‘there’s nothing compared to a practical experience when it comes to gr...

              Undeterred by the unceasing drizzle and the gusty winds swirling around, plumes of smoke billowed up into the air. He knew the source of this. He did not know about most of the things transpiring beyond the confines of his cell, or the jail he was housed in, but he knew this all too well. When the smoke stopped, he loosened the clutch of his hands on the rods patterning the sky visible through the window, averted his gaze from the burning site, and slouched on the floor. A new inmate would come soon.               Piercing the pall of silence, the door banged open. The floor-head dragged a man in by his collar- rickety in appearance and etched with a mark of surrender on the face. ‘When will his turn come?’ -he asked the head, pointing to the new entrant. ‘Next week’- came the swift reply in a tone implicitly warning him to keep mum. He looked down and almost immediatel...