LUCID INTUITIONS

Why the moral policing? Kunal jerked his head , after all isn’t it my money and health, grinded his teeth . Who gives them right. “I know I am in the right.” he said the words out loud but no one heard it as he was alone in his workshop. See I have said it, then why do I still feel the pain in my head? From his position on the sofa Kunal looked at the bolted door, at that moment another thought spurred up. With fame comes great responsibility . The one constant advice he kept hearing all through his childhood to the initial years of adulthood. Was this the source of his discomfort? Was being a famous painter reason of his freedom to be being taken away? He remembered how the people closest to him becoming cautious with every new success of his, and came up with their do’s and don’ts lists, much to his chagrin. Things became so chaotic that he felt choked, so he discarded his so called well wishers, with the exception of one, a mischievous smile adorned his face.      At that

Vikram straightened his coat, and looked about the majestic bungalows situated on either side of the road. Opulence; was the word which came to his mind. He quickly wiped the precipitation formed on his forehead with the handkerchief. Wealth and its associated comforts always made him nervous; as they were contrary to the constant hardships and pains he faced and fought against throughout his life. Vikram took out an old worn out piece of paper from his breast pocket and read; 1002-C, Gulmohar Parks .  He observed the number plate of the bungalow in-front of him; 998, four more to go. His mundane life was jolted when his mother came out with the admission, your father is alive. This was contrary to the information, your father died in an accident; he had been feed since his childhood. By the time Vikram could process the information; your father is one of the richest men of the city; his mother added. The weight of information left him gasping for air as if someone had punche

It was a progressive city similar to any other developed city of the world with diminishing natural resources, a souvenir from development. The concrete jungle built by men for men lacked humanity as its inhabitants were quickly aping machines while discarding the human traits which distinguished, man and machine. Dilip Varma lunged and boarded the slowing down taxi leaving the fellow commuter stunned, who was waiting patiently for it to halt. “Domestic Airport” he said to the irritated driver. The cabby nodded and put the car into gear as Dilip looked straight ahead avoiding making eye contact with the sorry commuter. He knew he was in the wrong but shrugged his shoulders, I am getting late . His eagerness to catch the hometown bound flight for diwali holidays blinded him from admiring the view of the city basking in sunshine from the taxi’s window, “will you press the paddle,” he said to the driver. The crowded airport terminal was in accordance with the festive season.

Monsoon had replenished the valley and the visage presented a soothing effect to every eye. Water droplets assembled from last night’s drizzle sparkled when the first ray of the morning sun kissed it giving the illusion of a diamond studded blanket enveloping the region. Amid this lush foliage stood rows of concrete colourful houses either side of the road illustrating prosperity. Anyone who spared a moment to explore beyond the scenic beauty of the valley would observe a perfect synergy of progression and nature.    The community had seen rapid progress in the last twenty years with literacy rate increasing among both the sexes, natives learning advanced techniques of farming; which was their main occupation, developing markets and better connectivity with the outside world for better transportation. The air smelled of freedom of thought, the availability of resources and the optimism for success. Among this wave of progression stood an old palace akin a dinosaur. To call