In the twilight, she walked along the crowded pavement dodging swarms of people hurriedly walking back home, stray dogs sniffing around trying to locate the last meal of the day, young children laughing and talking animatedly, groups of young people eagerly waiting for the bhel or sandwichwala to prepare their evening snack. She was greeting with the same sight everyday. Over time she had even begun recognising some of the faces. They could always be found at the same place, at the same time with the same set of friends. That’s as predictable as life in the city was. Things worked in the same manner, with the same efficiency, day after day, with no scope for spontaneous change.
She made a stop at the local grocery store, fished out her long list of items, got them packed in two large plastic bags, paid for the goods and headed off in the direction of her home. Her house wasn’t very far but after a long day, it seems miles away. Her throat was parched and she was literally dragging her feet. The bags seemed heavier than usual.
She entered the building, stood in the narrow passage in front of the elevator and waited for the elevator to arrive. It was taking longer than normal. Someone was alighting on one of the higher floors and taking exceptionally long to do so. She was wondering how long she would have to stand there, carrying those bags, waiting. At that very minute, a young boy come running into the building. The boy was familiar-he lived on the forth floor and his mother was an acquaintance of her family. He saw her standing there impatiently waiting for the elevator. Without a smile or a “hi”, he nudged her aside came to stand in front of her. That way he became the first in line for the elevator. His movement, squashed her against the wall, the heavy bags poking her legs. She was upset with his behaviour but chose not to say anything. The elevator finally arrived. The boy got in first-just the way he wnated it to be. As she followed him into the elevator she though to herself “It isn’t always about being first. Sometimes other things are more important.”
Note: This is a slightly fictionalized version of real life. I have been told by a friend to try my hand at writing fiction. This is as much as I am willing to try! real -life inspired fiction!