THEM 'Ishman'

Can I marry him, dada?

Ishan was the ideal citizen, no nonsense, no distractions.

A machine in human form. He worked his 9 to 5 every single day without pause, without breath. He didn’t smile much, didn’t eat much, and though he listened to everyone, he hardly ever spoke. He didn’t live like a human. He existed like a system.

He had everything he was told to want a small house to stay in, decent clothes to wear, money to buy food, a television to watch the news and witness people arguing over things no one would change.

He never really dreamed it, but others did for him. And they were right. Ishan was grateful to them.

After all, wasn’t life just about breathing and working?

Now, he couldn’t even remember what he once wanted to be when he grew up. What he used to dream of as a child felt like a memory washed away in time.

He forgot.

He moved.

He lived.

He breathed.

He was alive.

But maybe… heavy clouds don’t always linger in the sky.

They don’t live there forever.

Someday, no one knows when but someday, they’ll drift away.

And on that day, the sun will shine again, bright, bold, and full of life.

The sun won’t care how long it was hidden,
How long it stayed buried beneath something more powerful.

It won’t hold grudges, won’t look back.

It will rise again, radiant and free,
Spilling golden beams across the world, making everything it touches shine again… glow again.

Now… shall we flip the page?

Turn to the other side of the book?
Are you excited?

(WELL, I AM, BAHAHAHA… JAI MATA DI, LET’S ROCK! 🙏🍻)

"Shuuby, wats dis b-be-behav… bahavororor?" said a tiny man, well, not exactly tiny, just a small potato-looking creature with grownup

.up arms and legs.

(Shubby, what is this behaviour?)

"And by ‘bahavororor’ you mean behaviour, tiny human?" replied a man. A fully grown one, well, not so fully grown. More like a large sack of potatoes with long arms and legs.

The tiny human, with his little hands planted firmly on his hips, furrowed his brows in concentration, looked down at the floor for a second, and then back up at the man. He nodded solemnly, confirming his word choice.

"I am trying to get us ready, baby." Shubman said as he took a determined step toward the wardrobe.

He grabbed the handles, pulled them open, and...

Boom.

A chaotic waterfall of clothes tumbled out, crashing down onto the floor like an avalanche of cotton and wrinkles.

Shubman instantly stepped back, blinking at the pile of fabric now lying at his feet. He stared at the mess in dismay, lips pressed together.

Then slowly, he turned his head to the left.
There, a few steps away, the tiny human was already staring up at him expression unimpressed, arms still firmly on his hips.

"You ale so blocoli." The tiny one declared, letting out a deep, dramatic sigh and shaking his head as if he were deeply disappointed in the ways of the world.