blowing in the wind...

He zipped up his jacket and rubbed his hands together to warm himself up. Is it always this cold in February? He cant really tell. Will he be able to tell next year how cold it was this year? Who knows! He just hopes he doesn’t have to wait out here long. Its not so bad though. Good thing the playground is surrounded by all these buildings; would have been a lot colder if it wasn’t. In fact, its kinda nice being here. He doesn’t really get to come here much these days, although its just a few minutes walk from home. And there is nobody around at this hour. Everything is nice and quite. The sky is clear and there is a half moon hanging like a half eaten rice cake– not bad at all! He lit a cigarette and strolled about for a bit and it felt pretty good. He tried to remember what it was like when he was a little tyke running up and down this field chasing a ball. He wasn’t very good with it, the ball that is, but it wasn’t too bad. He remembered how the neighbourhood kids used to come down here on the eve of 21st February and built Shahid minars all over the place. There would be several and in the next morning they’d compare which one is the nicest. Guess the kids these days don’t do that anymore.

How long has it been? Guess there is another half an hour to go. He lit another smoke and inhaled deeply. He’s circled the field 3 times already. He remembered his walks up and down the field 10 years back. What was that like? Falling in love for the first time? He had just picked up smoking. He was quite the smoking gun back then. Wasn’t he? Eager to get out there and leave his mark, eager to shout out to the world that he has arrived…And then, he started feeling all those things, things that were so tender and beautiful that it felt sweet even when they hurt. He didn’t get it at first, he even tried to fight it off. And then he gave in and it was all good. He thought that was it, that she was it and there would be nobody else, could be nobody else. He remembered what it was like, the walks on those nights, with a smoke in his hands and storms in his heart, and then how it all fell apart and the sky started to look really mean. Then how in time he forgot all about it, the face, the lips, the eyes, the love, the anguish – all of it. Nothing, not the layers and layers of clouds or the countless stars above, not even the wet wind would remind him of them, and even if they did, they’d mean nothing. How they made his heart ache then! He flicked the cigarette away and lit another.

He found a space between the railings and decided to rest his legs a little. He leaned against a pillar and stretched out his legs. He made himself so comfortable that he almost fell asleep. The fact that he had nothing to do but wait didn’t seem to bother him at all. That’s right, he loved it. The chills of the night, the solitude, the silence – all of it. He felt happy; happy and content and gratified. No thought interrupted the silence, no word disrupted his peace. He came close, very close, to something he’s been trying to get at for so long, and he was completely relaxed. He was so at peace that he didn’t see it coming. Like a stealthy Ninja it crept up to him and caught him off guard. He sensed it of course but just didn’t care and it came and it was too late when it did. It blew in, or rather blew out and blew the whole thing with it. It jerked him awake; it brought him down all the from lala land and landed him on his posterior. The spell was broken by the sound of a singular….FART!!!