The Weight of Heat


I picked an auto,

An empty one.

I filled that empty seat.

Usually,

Auto drivers

Scream their lungs out,

Calling out places,

Waiting until the auto

Has no space

To breathe

And so do the people.


Commonly, 8 sit,

But depending upon the physique,

It varies.

And at one point,

The auto looks 

Like an overfilled balloon,

Swollen with air,

Ready to burst any second

holding many lives inside.


But this anna

Didn't call out to people.

I was the only one.

The moment I sat,

He started.

Omg, the best thing

Happened today—

No need to wait

Until seats fill

In this scorching heat.


In between,

Without informing,

He stopped

Outside a police station.

Blank, clueless me

Waited,

Questioned,

Judged him,

Doubted the situation.


Until I saw him

pouring the last of his water

From the bottle

On his legs.

Those legs needed relief.

Those hands needed a day off from the sun.

Those eyes needed a deep sleep,

A minute to close them peacefully,

And to feel the coolness,

And the kindness of nature

or of people.


Then he came back

With the same bottle,

But unfilled.

His voice was low,

Tired and thirsty.

Even the sea felt like just a drop.

Maybe that's why

He didn't scream out

For people.


I offered him

My water.

He said, "It's okay, ma."

To this starving throat,

He needed cooling water.

Thank God,

Mine was it.

So he accepted.

He was overwhelmed,

And so his throat was

Gulping the water

So fast,

Even his auto wouldn't

Match its speed.


I thought I

Suffered the most,

Walking in this

Burning weather,

Until I saw such people

From auto anna

To roadside sellers,

Sitting

with no shade

Waiting for buyers 

To at least sell 5 watermelons.

Those eyes carry more thirst

Than the throat.

A 50-year-old man

Selling home-cooked food

At 1 pm,

While people don't care,

rushing only to escape the sun.

But he

Keeps arranging his items,

Expecting, manifesting

That not a single plate

Should go to waste.

Fearing,

"How many days

Will my tongue bear

The same unsold food?"

Wanting

To be like others,

To go to a hotel,

Taste others' culinary.

But the sun

Says no,

Leaving his pocket empty

Instead of food.

The greens-selling aunty,

Shouting with her soft voice,

Though she never wanted it

To be booming,

Knocking on everyone's doors,

Requesting them to buy

At least one keera kattu,

So her daughter

Could have a chicken fried rice.

But most days,

It's same

Keera sadham.


                        (Ai generated picture)

Not only summer is rude to us,

But we ourselves are.

We realise the

Privilege,

Value of life.

Before complaining,

The chin should be lifted up—

look around.



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