Walking Home

By Sakshat Rao

His burdened neck looked back onto the street

To see at whom the dogs were barking. His feet

Would have been too tired to run if his fears

Were true. But his senses, conditioned over years,

Were habituated to check for any danger.

Every little event now could be a mood-changer

For when he would later sit down for dinner.

After all, he was no more a stargazing beginner

To this city’s life. His Bollywood dreams had been

Crushed decades ago. Every letdown, he had seen

Over the course of his monochrome life.

He carried the tomatoes for which his wife

Had called him three times. He knew he would face

Scoldings for not bargaining in the marketplace.

With grocery prices approaching his salary, there

Was not much he could argue about. To be fair,

Even telephone bills were rising, so she should also

Not be calling him thrice to remind about the tomato.

He then remembered her pregnant belly and planned

Not to argue too much with her. As he saw his hand

Carrying the tomatoes, he once again had the thought

Of his unborn child. He once again could not

Decide whether he was happy or sad. Such

Was his life. He could not wait for the loving touch

Of his wife. Indifferent to the city noise, he carried

On, hoping to find comfort in the woman he had married.

His neck, burdened by today’s endless office workload,

Looked around for vehicles as he slowly crossed the road.

By Sakshat Rao