365 Days- Book I

110. Country Mouse

October 18, 2018

"Write about someone who grew up in the country visiting the city for the first time."

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He missed the stars, or rather the stars were missing.

He knew they would be there, hidden behind the thick veil of the city smog, if he could stare long enough and if the city lights were not blinding enough. That was another strange thing, the bright lights, glaring and burning, there was no respite from them. Then there were the noises, the honking and the plonking, the shouting and the cursing, it was not that there was silence in the country side where he had spent all his life, but the noise here was never ending. The city never slept, it seemed.

He sighed as he walked inside from the balcony, where he had stepped out in the hopes of getting some fresh air. Of course there would not be much of it, not with the traffic and the construction in the plot a stone's throw away, another tall, wobbly structure of cement and concrete. However, the construction fascinated him, those huge equipment, the excavators, the loaders, the cement mixers and the road rollers; construction in the city was definitely differently done from how it was in his home town, where it was primarily done by people rather than machines. But then, almost all works in his home town, deep in the country side, was done by people, machines were not needed much and even if needed, the lack of adequate electrical power supply would render them useless.

He had come to his son's house in the city, after years of coaxing and cajoling, unwilling to leave his house and garden untended for the supposed vacation of three weeks. He was not so much a stranger to the city, having seen the life in movies and the television, (which was again dependant on the electrical supply) but nothing prepared him for the real deal, the noise, the dust and the lights.

Two weeks in the city and he was dying of boredom, he had thought that twenty four hours of uninterrupted telecast would be entertaining but then the 'breaking news' shouted at by the news reporters was grating on the ears, not to mention the actual item constituting the news, which could be as mundane a cat delivering ten kittens in a flat to something as horrifying as a wife hacking her husband to piece for daring to criticise her cooking. He could not understand as to how people who could not spare a few minutes talking to each other could build up such intolerance, or maybe that was the precise reason. His son who had pleaded with him for so many years, hardly spent more than ten minutes with him, each day, in fact, they spoke more over the telephone than they did now.

He was tired and looking forward to going to his home, it could be small and lacking in quite a few amenities, he would admit that hot water at the turn of a tap was indeed a luxury and one could easily get used to it, but then the fresh vegetable more than made up for the cold water baths he would often have. He missed his morning walks in the chill weather, the air cold and clear; the chirping of the birds greeting the morning; the call of the temple bell; the nights with the music of the crickets. All the lights and the entertainment of city life, the wonders of transport and abundance of store with their mind boggling variety of wares; the initial attraction had worn off.

He missed the stars.

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Word count - 585