It was a rainy one good morning when the cold breeze was truly new. And pure. And honest. She could see the history through her opened bus window. The bus danced on a rainy road, thrashing water's flesh into pieces that flew sideways. It made the bus seem like an angel with water wings. And water sounds. She had this perception that if it rained everyday in God's design of a day, probably she could have had free bus rides throughout her life. But then, it was merely a thought.
Things passed by with the blink of an eye.
A pan wala.
A banner with paan spits.
And bird's poop.
A hospital for Christians, with a banner that said: Serving Humanity to Make this Earth a Heaven.
As if it really mattered. As if people were really concerned with visualizing heaven while they are on earth.
As if hospitals had a way to transform smelly reality of disease into heaven.
As if curing a disease meant serving the whole humanity. Or maybe the whole Christianity.
Sparrows sat in a line on electricity wire behind the banner, indulged probably in a random discussion. They seemed like anxious females, their bellies swollen with news, ready to be spilled out into backbiting. A perfect session, where they would loathe others to love themselves. Maybe they were not there for any such thing. Maybe they sat out beyond and above on a wire, looking down upon at humanity in a line.
Colonial building peeked through wilderness of Old Lahore's greenery like a naughty and flirtatious eye wink. Sometimes a minaret. Sometimes a white pediment.
Sometimes a whole building with name like Bhagat Singh Haveli. Each building echoed aroma of each laborer who built it and each thought that was thought within its walls. But then, it was just a matter of passing by. On an angel bus ride. On a lucky rainy day.
Things passed by with the blink of an eye.
A pan wala.
A banner with paan spits.
And bird's poop.
A hospital for Christians, with a banner that said: Serving Humanity to Make this Earth a Heaven.
As if it really mattered. As if people were really concerned with visualizing heaven while they are on earth.
As if hospitals had a way to transform smelly reality of disease into heaven.
As if curing a disease meant serving the whole humanity. Or maybe the whole Christianity.
Sparrows sat in a line on electricity wire behind the banner, indulged probably in a random discussion. They seemed like anxious females, their bellies swollen with news, ready to be spilled out into backbiting. A perfect session, where they would loathe others to love themselves. Maybe they were not there for any such thing. Maybe they sat out beyond and above on a wire, looking down upon at humanity in a line.
Colonial building peeked through wilderness of Old Lahore's greenery like a naughty and flirtatious eye wink. Sometimes a minaret. Sometimes a white pediment.
Sometimes a whole building with name like Bhagat Singh Haveli. Each building echoed aroma of each laborer who built it and each thought that was thought within its walls. But then, it was just a matter of passing by. On an angel bus ride. On a lucky rainy day.
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