Monsoon Diaries

The Game

Triiingg.....This must be that rowdy Ashu again, here to tease him again at the first opportunity. The old man had seen him wading in the muddy flood waters with a plastic bag in hand.
A few minutes ago, Raj Kishore had heard the drone of a helicopter and heaved his partially paralyzed body erect to peep out of his bed side window hoping t
hat someone would notice him inside and evacuate him. Without electricity, the television could not work, and his cell phone battery had also died two days ago,cutting him off from the world.
The septuagenarian had been without food for the last two days in the absence of his cook as the entire city had become inundated under the massive flood waters four days ago. For the first two days, he had managed to keep hunger and weakness at bay by munching on the packet of biscuits, some fresh and dry fruits and a jug of water that his cook had kept before leaving. His sugar levels and blood pressure had dipped to an alarming low. Now on the verge of drowning into oblivion, he resigned himself to his imminent death.
And then the doorbell rang again. And again, this time a little more insistently!
Willing himself to open the door and scold the irritating street urchin Ashu one last time for disturbing him with his stupid game of ringing the bell and running away, he forcibly dragged himself to the door.

'What are you d......' his squeaky reprimand stopped midway. 

'Daddu, khana...tumhare liye', Ashu handed him a white plastic bag full of food, bananas and water bottle he had snatched when it was dropped from the helicopter. And ran away.


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