Live Your Own Truth!
A small little suburban town was being embraced by a translucent fog of an early November morning. It spilt into every little street and lane, wafting like a fine powdery mist carrying dreams that everyone saw but easily forgot. Only the little koels, perched a top the Ashoka trees, softly cooed the arrival of dawn. Stray beams of light teased and danced their way through bright clusters of orange and red blossoms- like little elves in golden gossamer threads.
A quaint park, central to the town, was slowly buzzing with quick paced footsteps of some elderly folk on their walks. At about five minutes to six, a diminutive juice wala cycled his way to its gates and was in the process of setting up his pop-up-anywhere-shop, right under the street light that marked the entrance to the park. He had wiped his forehead with a gamcha and was tying it across his head. A big white rexine bag laid down nearby, carried his assorted wares in tin cans along with a dusty blue foldable plastic table to display them. There was gourd and bitter-gourd, lemon, ginger, carrot and many other kind of freshly juiced concoctions to suit a conceived or preconceived notion of the walking folk.
From the corner of his eye, he noticed a lean figure of medium stature steadily making way towards him and a smile began to form on his face.
