The hour of dusk. When solid shapes slowly start merging with the abstract shadows. When bright and harsh daylight meekly surrenders to the all-enveloping carpet of darkness.
This is the hour of the day that Aab relishes the most. He loves to break off from the routine of fast paced urban life, and look up at the sky. He sees the branches of a tree silhouetted against the soft grey of the gingerly spreading night. He catches a glimpse of the late birds hurrying to their nests, sometimes in V-formation, sometimes in one’s and two’s. He feels the stirring of the gentle breeze, which seems to have gathered courage to sway out only after the harsh sun has crossed beyond the horizon.
And after scouring the endless skies and far-off horizon, Aab’s eyes return to the immediate surroundings. In the madly competitive world, the urban man does not return home in the hour of cowdust. He switches on bright and glaring lights in a desperate bid to take over from the sun. People become more active – shops and offices become busier, traffic becomes heavier, and people compete not only to move faster and farther, but to push others back.
Aab steps aside. He wants the world to get that little space that he is occupying. He is happy on his kerb-stone watching the exhaust pollution and deafening sounds that have taken over from the cowdust and the tinkle of bells.
