Whilst i sat smoking in the chair with last drops of tea alike dew i watch him and think about the others...he is tall lanky and yes he is handsome in that folded dhoti of his and the worn out shirt...all his poverty to veil his beauty...the skin of his legs outshine white with its darkness...there are no veins showing because of the old age and no energy characterisation with those pimples on the contrary...he walks and strides along and i wonder what would be to be him...and nothing more...and yes i see my shoes...and his chappals...and he has the world beneath those rubbers and i have the world over me...its so heavy...i cannot hold it in my head...the world is stuck to his slippers for me i hold it on my head...i try to move and i rotate and i try to run, i revolve...oooof my own mysterious ways....