Aab does not cry often. He does not cry for himself, ever. But at times he cannot help crying when he sees the innocence of childhood or victimization, when he watches the vulnerable being manipulated by the crafty. He knows he cannot be a savior, not that he wants to be one. He knows that the humble and meek will continue to suffer long after he has gone from this world. He know that tears will flow as long as human exist. At times he just hopes he would be able to wipe someone’s tears. And when he cannot even do that, he sheds a silent tear of empathy for those who are made to weep for no fault of theirs. Aab is even more worried about those whose tears have dried up. For crying is a relief, and those who are denied even that small outlet suffer even more. He sees around him people who wear masks with smiles plastered on them. For at times the cruel world denies some victims even the right to grieve. In this world of injustice and victimization lives the silent spectator Aab — an outcast, an anachronism, a floating leaf who will be swept away by the wind, or buried with the dust. Maybe only the skies will cry for him, by letting down a torrent of tears in the form of rain – a shower that will obliterate the withering leaves and usher in a new form of life.
