Why Did The Bitch Cross The Road?, or Not Until My Lucky Day

"What matters our creative, endless toil, when at a snatch, oblivion ends the coil" 

- Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Faust

Yesterday while on the road, I saw a bitch cross the road. I was doing 90 on a village highway with no regard to the suspension or the squeaking door hinges, just because the vehicle was not mine. So I saw this bitch cross the road. And then a little distance behind her her two little pups followed their mum.

I swear I could've braked. I could've slowed down. But it was a bitch. So I didn't.  By the time we passed them, she had crossed over to the other side. One puppy who was on her heels was across too. But the second one, who had been looking around and had been left behind, probably because he was not inclined to be a momma's boy, was not so lucky. I lazily moved the steering to the left and then straight. But as fate would have it, he hit my tire. Let out a small squeal as he gave up the ghost.

Our vehicle did not even feel a bump, so small was he. And then I saw his body in the rear-view mirror, lying lifeless on the road, feet out-stretched, his momma turning back and running towards him.

A few KMs ahead, I met a squirrel chasing probably a nut or something, running wildly in the middle of the road. I put my foot off the accelerator and braked gently . Tried to swerve the vehicle away from its motion path. It darted across the centre of the road, and then disappeared behind my bumper. I saw it hopping behind in my side-view mirror.

Further ahead, there was a lake beside the road. There were some very large birds there. I had never seen such birds before. After a short admiration, we moved on and crossed a small pond by the side of the road. The day was sunny. The sky was blue and fields green. It was beautiful to drive through these villages where ghats and ponds and lakes abound. It was beautiful.

And then a flock of birds took flight just as we sped by. They did not fly because we disturbed their stay, but of their own will. As they flew off into the good old blue, a few flew towards the road and one of them hit our wind-shield. Broke his tender bones upon impact.

Later in the evening, after the Maghrib azaan in the mosque, the muezzin turned to me to lead the prayer. The priest of the mosque was absent and he thought I would be the most appropriate person. So I, killer me, lead a group of men in prayer from the imam's place in the mosque.

I went back to my room and reflected on the day that had passed. I shed a tear for that little pup that I could have saved but did not. Scenes of the mother running towards the baby, the baby lying dead on the road, feet out-stretched, the baby who was so little that he could cuddled himself on my lap, were heart-wrenching. Maybe I could've saved him. A furry little boy, crossing the road without care for our coming...

Then I knew there was no way I could've saved him.

The squirrel had got away barely. The pigeon surprised both me as much as itself upon hitting the wind-shield. And tomorrow it just might be me getting hit while crossing the road. Not being important enough for someone to press the brakes for. The life we make such a fuss about would be gone in a second. And all of life's plans and ambitions become meaningless.

I will not die before my time has come, nor would I live a second more. Until that fateful day, I am destined to live and to play along life's game, to endure the sleep-eat-shit-repeat cycle, to make plans and to save for the future, to commit good and to commit sin, and watch porn. Until my time to die a tragic death has come.

Not until my lucky day.