For The Junkie

Only a glimpse is what I can afford to give as I drive past this man while the rabid columns of traffic dance around him. Under the hammer of this June summer sky of Delhi, he trips harder than the burning pavement he sprawls on.

I cannot tell what drug did he choose to hold hands with but I am sure it takes him to that paradise every single time without fail – something life really sucks at. Drugs are more dependable than life when it comes to delivering happiness. That is the reason why everyone has that one substance of choice to depend on.

The buttonless shirt and torn trousers are not his but they have been long enough on him that he could easily call them his own. His bearded face is caked with dirt, like the walls of this city, it has seen the hot days and has braved its dead cold nights. But this face does not give away what this man was and what he could have been. It guards that story very well and all one can do is guess.

Now I try to look for him in the rear view mirror just one last time but he has blended back into the street. This trip might be his very last and he might never wake up in that dried spot of his own piss. I cannot help him and I would never know what became of him but there is this feeling of comfort within me, slightly dark but pure – Not sure if there is bliss after this life, I am absolutely certain that right now as he breathes on that concrete slab, he is in a better place.

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