A Glass Of Water

By Hiranya Mukherjee

I was once sitting at a table

In a café

The droning of the caressing whispers of the air conditioner

Had lulled me into a state of drowsy observation—

I took a sip of that chilled water they pour you in cafés and restaurants

Right after placing the menu on the table– the one that somehow tastes better than normal water

Perhaps because it splashes your tastebuds awake from their slumber

To anticipate the imminent meal…huh

I noticed—

A droplet of water steadily making its way

From the rim of the glass, to the bottom

It traversed its path with an awkward gait

Sometimes sliding smoothly

Sometimes jerking to the left then slightly to the right

To straighten itself again and moving on forward

Sometimes it took short breaks in its path

Stopping in its tracks

As if thinking whether to take the further step or not

And then suddenly giving in to the supposed itch

Breaking out of that inertia of introspection

And launching itself forward with a spasmodic lurch

As it reached the bottom to become one

With the watery circle that had started to form

Rooting the glass to the wooden table

I hesitated to lift it up again to drink

I hesitated to disturb the slumber of the droplets in that circular smudge….

By Hiranya Mukherjee