Attempts at being normal

I sit here in my room at office, gazing out through the windows watching vehicles pass by at a frequency of one per second. Cars, two wheelers, SUVs. Purple flower petals from the Jacaranda tree that have fallen on the road, are trampled by the tyres treading on them.

It has rained heavily this morning with thunder roaring and lightening bursting forth on the horizon. But the afternoon sun shows no signs of the rains that visited the city. Nope, no signs, not even an inkling.  

The lockdown is being rolled back in a phased manner and life stares at the possibility of being normal once again. Full of myriad twists and turns, mighty knots and criss-crosses. At the possibility of having the roads filled with vehicles crawling together at peak time traffic. At the possibility of the smoke rising up once again from the invisible chimneys that these vehicles foist upon themselves, straight into the stratosphere. At the possibility of birdsong being drowned out by incessant anthropogenic chatter.

 I look at the man hurrying on the sidewalk with back pack strapped, a black mask in place and the determination in his eyes.  And for some reason I am left with no doubt that we are at the same place where we stood before Covid shook us. Just like the sun that does not show any signs of the storm that it has braved, the city shows no signs of weakness or meekness, in its desperation to spring back to normal.   

Word Prompt :Normal
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