Smogland

The noise was like a screen, and it was showing stench, honks, people, more people, more bags, counters, tickets, train timings, and less of the thing people carry around and never show on the platform, their mercy. It would shroud everything beneath ones knees, dogs, kids, beggars, dirt, and trampled lepers, there was no time for that. The queue was long and fast disappearing I was the tail.

Through that smog which hid every thing starting from the knees to the ground, I could see some movement, a boy, two feet and a half, wild hair, dark skin with smears of grey dust that the smog covered, the eyes, powerful and piercing, smog defying, the nose small and straight, the lips moving, murmuring a language from smog land, the noisy smoke drowned it . He walked on all fours like a spider searching for a prey. ‘Clink’ somewhere in smogland a coin must have dropped from the hands of a man who was from the knees and upwards, above the smog and putting his change and the ticket into his pocket. The spider gave a slight quiver and turned and rose, yet not above the smog, turned this back towards me and ran towards the ‘clink’ in smogland, he was wearing a trouser with one leg, whose hind had been ripped starting from the heel to the buttock, the flap still clung to the trouser, a small buttock covered with dirty underwear, he raced and before the person form nonsmogland could put his hands into the smog that appeared so thick in the distance, the spider was there, desperately trying to capture the coin that was still bouncing on the floor of smogland. The people of the nonsmogland are powerful, he kicked the spider, once and missed, twice and the hit his chin, he fell on this bottom, about to cry of the pain and his smog defying eyes at the guy from nonsmogland. The smoke of the noise covers everything, even the words that came out of the guy from nonsmogland, to the spider form smogland. The powerful handed the weak a coin from nonsmogland, coins are a commodity from the nonsmogland, ‘clink”s are form smogland. The spider rose to this feet and was still below the knees of the people from nonsmogland, he had to be, he belonged to smogland. He came back now and I could see the back pockets of his torn trouser bulging with white polythene, the coin was in his canines now, forming a mound on his grey cheek, he turned around again this half ripped pant revealing the dirty underwear form smogland.

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