When all the world has been reduced to a rat race, he will always be the elephant who forgets. Bikes wriggle between cars to achieve an imaginary lead up to the next signal. Out of the box thinkers move out of the long queues of traffic into the opposite lane, only to see themselves facing the rightful lane owner and being engulfed back into the stomach of the automobile centipede. But a simple wave of the hand to go ahead and join the other rats briefly questions your motives to speed. With one hand on the non powered steering and the other hand steering your direction, he has shown you that he is the bigger man, as well as the bigger car. Slithering slowly on pitch dark roads, his dim headlights are the nazar for the world's kala mooh.
The Banyan Tree roots dangled for months together for children to swing between their innocent school life to Tarzan's. The roots protruded from the branches, gently caressing the ground at first and then piercing it. The soil was as soft as ghee, and the roots curled up into the ground like a tedi ungli finally meeting its mother roots. This was Nature's Ouroboros.
As the next branches lunged towards the ground, they slowly saw the soft soil disappear. The petrichor filled mud was now replaced with cold concrete, the hoof marks now filled wiith tyre skid marks and nature now replaced by human failure.
The Banyan was now hit with hard reality. And hard realty. The vesting rights over the ground were over. It was now merely a vest.