Myopic Wanderers

        Its that beautiful time of the year again. The heavens are pouring, the fact that light travels faster than sound validated again and again with every lightening, offering bright glimpses in the dark, as the electricity boards issue black outs without having to give any explanations.

        Rains have never failed to amuse me, the dusky evenings, the bright mornings, the pleasant gusts of wind, the lighting of the candles as the outdoors rumble, the sweet aroma of nilgiris, my stinking pet stray dogs, the pleasant excess of greens meeting the eye in every direction, the mucky shoes, the abusing pedestrians as every car flies by mercilessly, the shutters down on every shop, the choked drains, chirping birds perched on branches, the raging dark clouds, getting drenched till the crotch (yes, that's when you can claim to be completely drenched), the reappearance of leakages and water seepage in walls.
Monsoons indeed sustain life, physiologically, emotionally and philosophically.

         Within hours of the rains, we'll find the house outdoors, the lamp posts, the playing fields all shrouded by swarms of winged ants fluttering ceaselessly for hours, and then in the mornings leave traces of wings and ant corpses with no signs of live ants to be found anywhere. These ants leave me baffled. They metamorphose, swarm, go distant places, a few lucky ones mate, and then? the males die and the mated females disperse to attempt establishing a new colony.
       
         Drawing analogies in a more homely species we find striking similarities. There is so much a man could do on the look out for 'action' sights. For one, as the parents put it a kid does sprout wings. He is then blinded, and ceaseless in his efforts(for procreation alone). On finding a mate, he mates and then looks for another, and then yet another. The 'nuptial flight' ends only with the demise of capabilities, but the will -survives.

         The garden of life sustains itself with the race of men. It blossoms as men gawk at bosoms and chase curves. The race of men is relentless and selfless. Never bothering about subsidiaries, they are blinded by the motive of survival of the species. Its no wonder that the myopic wanderers that we are, have our pursuits in life focused at just one point of climax-coitus.

          Its only for the greater good, that every dick has a head of its own!